The Muse Errant
by Malina Wilwarin
Summary: <html><head></head>Muses are wonderful for any frustrated insomniac author to have around...except when they come in the form of relentlessly cheeky Elves. But when the real and the written worlds collide, an Author and her Muse must learn to work together to save both.</html>
1. Chapter 1

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Show all due deference to the genius of Tolkien, and to the New Line/WETA teams for the movies. I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except a whole lot of movies and books and a sleep disorder that seems to be quelled by lots of sewing. I must give all props to L8Bleumr for my inspiration. (I know the Muse angle has been done to death by other authors, but I really don't care. This is for me.)

**Notes: **Gratuitous use of SAT words and complex vocabulary. If this confuses you, don't read. Also a generous dash of Sindarin and Quenya. Because I can. Enjoy.

Part the First

Attention Deficit Disorder is one of the most over-diagnosed learning disorders in the academic world. I was diagnosed at twelve and...well, I actually do have it. I have difficulty concentrating unless kept consistently busy and my mind wanders faster and farther than a young horse let out of the paddock. If there is one thing I have discovered about how to deal with my brain, it is that I must multitask. My hands are forever growing bored, I can never just sit and watch television or read a book. I need background music when I read. I often sew while watching my favorite movies. Much the same is true of my writing, which, until very recently, never required any brainpower other than my own.

Aside from the ADD, I frequently suffer from insomnia, which basically boils down to a complete inability to shut my brain up. Thoughts, arguments, stories, suppositions, all flying at the speed of light in a million directions, regardless of what that silly clock happens to say. The aforementioned sewing and movie-watching consumed most of my sleepless nights, which could come as frequently as three to four days out of any given week. This has given rise to quite the collection of textile and leatherwork pieces, a good deal of which have been inspired by the medieval fantasy movies that are my regular evening fare.

My most recent project, a patchwork leather surcoat, was taking shape under my hands one evening as The Two Towers flickered across the TV screen. Not paying any particular attention, except for the occasional upward glance to enjoy sweeping panoramic views of New Zealand, I threaded another long strand of waxed linen through the eye of my darning needle. Random snatches of dialogue reached my ears through a gathering comfortable haze.

"What business does an Elf, a Man, and Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

"Give me your name, Horsemaster, and I shall give you mine."

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

"You would die before your stroke fell! Mind your finger."

The needle ran right under my thimble, drawing a ruby bead of blood. Swallowing a curse, I nibbled the small hurt away and stared at the screen, perplexed. The familiar scene continued as I'd seen it a dozen times before. I shook my head, put the ad-lib down to the fact that I hadn't slept more than two hours in as many days, and went back to stitching the seam that had been fighting me all night.

"It's much easier if you turn it inside out first."

All right, I hadn't imagined it this time. All traces of hard-won fatigue gone, I groped for the remote control and hit Pause. The room fell quiet, the image of Legolas and his gifted horse freezing in place on the screen. The silence pressed in on my ears. My heart pounded. I stood and scanned the room.

My apartment isn't terribly big. A front room with an offshoot kitchen, a small bathroom, a decent-sized bedroom, and a couple of closets. The locked door was clearly visible from my position on the sofa and it being the weekend, I hadn't left the place all day. Glowing blue numbers on the microwave shelved on a steel baker's rack against the far wall of the kitchen read out 2:39am. Various movie posters stared down from the walls. The bookcase, stuffed to its' wooden gills with books and movies, stood quietly in the corner, perpendicular to the small cabinet that served as a TV stand. The large squashy couch and matching loveseat crouched opposite, adorned with mismatched throw pillows and blankets. All perfectly normal and familiar, save for the long-haired pointy-eared blond chap leaning over the back of the loveseat, elbows resting on a much-loved brown fleece. His piercing eyes were fixed on the flickering screen.

"I loved that horse. Very agreeable fellow, even with the Dwarf on his back."

My gaze flicked between the on-screen image and the apparent duplicate in my living room. The library in my head cross-referenced itself, looking for a correlation between insomnia and hallucinations. I closed my eyes and rubbed until dull yellow spots appeared, promising myself that it was time to go to bed.

"Oh it's going to take a good deal more than that to get rid of me, _wilwarin_." I opened my eyes in time to see him vault the back of the loveseat and stretch out comfortably.

"Shouldn't you be...?" Annnnd my usually articulate brain had deserted me completely.

"Oh no, that's long finished. That story ended ages ago." He laced long slender fingers behind his blond head and crossed his ankles, smirking at at me in a manner most cheeky.

All right...so there was an Elf in my living room. As the poet once said: what the hell next? Well, no time like the present.

"Just to clarify...that story... (here I pointed to the screen) is history."

A nod. "Aye."

"And you've somehow stepped out of Middle Earth into this one."

"_Mae_." Another nod, though the word was strange to me.

"...I'll take that as a yes. So what exactly are you doing in my apartment?"

"I understand you're in need of a muse. I've been sent to inspire you."

"To inspire me." The sheer amount of disbelief rolling through my words completely destroyed the poor unsuspecting question mark that might otherwise have followed them, leaving only a humble period. "You're supposed to INSPIRE me."

The Elf's smirk was getting cheekier by the minute, but only served to compound my irritation.

"It is the middle of the night and a fictional character has just randomly appeared in my apartment, claiming to be my own personal Muse. The only things I am inspired to do are to seek professional help because clearly I'm hallucinating, or to teach you the meaning of defenestration. And if you're very lucky, I'll actually open the window beforehand."

"Fictional!" The Elf sat up, looking surprisingly indignant over one simple word, considering I'd just threatened to unceremoniously toss him out of a window. "FICTIONAL! Oh now that is going too far!"

"Well, you are!" Sleep deprivation has a way of shortening my temper and depleting my otherwise abundant vocabulary. "You were created by an Englishman in the early part of the 20th century for a brilliant series of books, which have since been turned into an award-winning series of movies. You were portrayed by an actor who went on to play a blacksmith-turned-pirate. You are an illusion brought on by lack of sleep and-ACK!"

This rather undignified splutter was produced by my rather understandable shock at finding the Elf less than a foot in front of me within the space of half a blink. The cheeky smirk had vanished, to be replaced by a grim scowl. Bright blue eyes bored into my own dark brown ones. Instinctively, I raised a hand to ward him off. My palm smacked straight into a suede-covered chest, as real and solid as the wall he'd just backed me into.

"Do I seem," he growled, "like an illusion now?"

I felt my eyes widen. My jaw hung a little slack. My already annoyed vocabulary gave up completely, packed its' bags, and headed for Vegas, leaving me without any retort whatsoever, let alone something appropriately snappy.

"Good." Abruptly, he moved away, the cheeky grin returning. "Now that that's been settled, let's get started."

(Your reviews are appreciated. Part the Second coming soon.)


	2. Chapter 2

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Nope, still not mine. Yup, still not sleeping much. Probably won't till this bratty Muse decides to stop screaming in my ear.

**Notes**: Thanks so much to all my lovely reviewers from Part One. So glad you're all enjoying Muse-Legolas. He's incredibly fun to write. To answer Lady of Em's question, wilwarin does not mean the same as melamin. You'll find out what's going on with that in the next chapter. Please enjoy (excuse the heavy dialogue) and keep those reviews coming!

Part the Second

Abandoning all hope of any sleep, I made my way back over to the sofa and sat down. Well, less "sat" and more "flopped bonelessly with a not-quite-muffled curse." I stared at the ceiling, took a few deep breaths.

"Ahem..." He was perched on the arm of the sofa now, balancing effortlessly. "When I said we should get started, I did mean rather immediately. And to answer the forthcoming question, I am well aware of the hour."

"Which is positively ungodly."

"You're awake, are you not?"

"Thanks to a surprise visit from a prattling Elf who doesn't seem to understand that even insomniacs need to rest."

"You forgot the part where he's charming and handsome. That's very important." Blue eyes twinkled merrily. I dug my nails into the sofa cushion to keep from turning one of them black.

"What exactly is it I'm supposed to be doing, pray tell?"

"Writing, of course," he said, as if it should somehow be glaringly obvious. "You can write longhand or type if you wish, but we really should begin."

"Elf, I'm beginning to dislike you."

"My name is Legolas, not 'Elf', and whether you wish it or not, I am your Muse."

"For how long?"

"Until the story is finished."

"And approximately how long will that take?" In the kitchen, the glowing blue numbers ticked to 3:07.

"Well, it's not going to happen at all at this rate, so unfortunately, we're going to have to cut short this incredibly stimulating game of volleysnark."

"Am I allowed to sleep first or do I have to spend the rest of my night with you blathering away in my ear?"

"We could do, but there is a faster way."

"Which is?" I inquired, deciding to ignore the fact that he hadn't answered my question about sleeping, which I had a sneaking suspicion was not going to happen any time soon. The return of the wide cheeky grin did not serve to allay that suspicion.

"Well..." he began.

"Never mind. I don't trust that grin."

"You don't? _Wilwarin_, I'm hurt!" I leaped off the sofa before he could throw himself across my lap like a pointy-eared Sarah Bernhardt. "You've cut me right to the quick! Ah _hareth nin_...I shall never recover!" Here he flopped dramatically onto the cushions with one arm slung across his eyes, bemoaning his plight. A few silent seconds later, he peeked to make sure I was noticing all this plight.

"Oh for the sake of Pete. Fine. What's the fast way?"

His recovery was instant and the grin returned with a speed that made me want to reach for a blunt object. He rolled off the sofa, somehow completely unwrinkled, and stepped forward so that we were nose to nose.

Must. Not. Injure. The nice. Elf.

"I was so hoping you would ask that," he whispered, before leaning down to kiss me.

(Please feed the author. She is hungry. We are famished, yes, famished we are, precious...)


	3. Chapter 3

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Still broke. Still not sleeping. Still don't own a thing.

**Notes**: My reviewers are AWESOME PEOPLE. Seriously, you guys rock. So much so, in fact, that I'm posting a new chapter two days in a row! This is unprecedented! And really really fun. Please enjoy. Fair warning: last few paragraphs are not drink-safe.

Part the Third

"_Rhaich!_ Did you have to hit me that hard?" The Elf rubbed his bruised jaw and glared at me.

"Yes. Yes I did. Try that again and I'll make sure I fracture something. Wait a minute..." It had been a long night, but I was fairly certain dawn hadn't come yet, let alone late afternoon. Not to mention the last time I had checked, there wasn't a forest in my living room.

We were standing in a clearing, surrounded by ancient-looking trees; sunlight slanted lazily through the branches all around us. The air was sweet with the scent of grass and wisteria. All was quiet, save for the occasional trill of birdsong. The world seemed painted in rich shades of green and gold.

"Toto, I have the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

"Indeed we are not, _wilwarin_. This is my home. And, not incidentally, the setting for your story."

"How did we...did you do this?" In other words, should I slug you again.

"In a manner of speaking. This is your inspiration. The story lives in me and I pass it to you."

"Did you have to kiss me?" I scowled, scrubbing my lips with the back of my hand. I noticed suddenly that my jeans and t-shirt had been replaced a long light skirt and a richly embroidered tunic belted at the waist with braided leather.

"Yes. Yes I did." Legolas just smiled. "A kiss gives the story life. It's what I do."

Best not to continue that line of questioning. I wanted to put the entire concept of kissing Elves out of my head. "So where exactly are we now?"

"What you see around you is the Mirkwood. Physically, we're actually still in your apartment. Consider this a particularly vivid daydream." Something rustled in the vegetation at the top of a nearby hill. Figures were moving through the brush, making straight for us.

"And...do the rules of dreams still apply?"

"Such as?" He shouldered a beautifully carved bow and a quiver of arrows I hadn't noticed before.

"Well, such as 'nothing can hurt you in a dream.'"

"I suppose so. It hasn't come up before. Why do you ask?"

"Well...it's just that those orcs don't look terribly friendly."

"Oh...I'd quite forgotten about them. Um, run!"

Despite the fact that I hardly needed to be told twice to run from a dozen grotesque snarling creatures barreling toward me, Legolas grabbed my hand and took off through the trees. Moments later, I was actually grateful for this when I realized he could run like a deer; I could never have kept up on my own. As fast as he was, the orcs weren't exactly slouches; not to mention they were inclined to do rude things like loose a volley of arrows after us. Luckily, they were horrible shots. One shaft ripped through my skirt, grazing my knee, but none of the others came close.

"Not much further." The playfulness had gone from my Muses' face, replaced by a look of steely determination. I had to admit, this was a much better look, at least in the capacity that it was much less annoying to me.

"To where exactly?"

"Here!" He skidded to a halt, pulled my arm around his neck, slung his arm around my waist, and with his free hand, grabbed hold of a previously unseen rope hanging from a nearby tree and yanked. I let out a rather undignified shriek as we were suddenly catapulted several dozen feet into the air, straight up into the branches. I am not fond of heights, but clinging for dear life to the top of a tree seemed like a better proposition than taking on a gaggle of well-armed and very cantankerous-looking orcs.

Speaking of clinging...oh hell.

"So...should I take this to mean you don't mind me so much now?" Legolas grinned, pointing with his chin at my hands, still clenched, white-knuckled, in his tunic. He was still holding onto the rope, keeping the two of us perfectly balanced in a sort of natural basket of conjoined tree branches. Below us, the orcs milled, snarling but unable to climb the tree or get a good shot with their bows.

"I thought you said nothing in this world could hurt me," I growled, fingering the hole in my skirt. The grave expression returned.

"Are you injured? Let me see." Nimble fingers were hiking the fabric up my leg even as I yelped a protest and aimed a swat at his braided blond head. He took the blow without flinching, intent on examining my knee. The skin was barely broken, really more of a scrape than any sort of flesh wound.

"You don't...there's no need to...hey! Let's keep this BELOW the knee, long-ears!"

Undaunted, he produced a cloth bandage and carefully wrapped the abrasion.

"You will heal, _wilwarin_." The warm smile was a new expression, but I wasn't about to let him butter me up.

"If you offer to kiss it better, I will toss you right out of this tree. And what does that mean, anyway, this word you keep calling me?"

Up went the skirt again, but only far enough to reveal the blue monarch butterfly I'd gotten tattooed on my calf on a whim in college. He traced the outline of the blue-and-black wings with one fingertip.

"_Wilwarin_. It means butterfly."

Confound it, circulatory system! When did we decide you could produce a blush? There was no memo, I never approved this! Stop! Cease and desist! We are NOT blushing in front of the...damnit. Well, at least he's handsome...and atheletic...and a good kisser, OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

Clearly, it had been WAY too long since I'd had a date, seeing as I was arguing with myself. And LOSING.

"So this is how it's going to work then? You kiss me and I have some sort of dream sequence, which I use to write a story?"

"Provided you don't toss me off of anything, yes."

"I have the distinct feeling I'm going to regret this but...all right. Let's get started."

(Reviews make Malina a happy girl. Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew...wait, that's potatoes. Those make me happy too. But since I can't ask for groceries, I'd REALLY love some reviews!)


	4. Chapter 4

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: This week, we all have my obnoxious neighbors to thank for my insomnia, so they own a substantial portion of my wrath. I still don't own the Elf, but only because Tolkien outbid me. Oh well...

**Notes**: This chapter is as much as surprise for me as it is for you. I did not see it coming, I was not warned, and the Muse shall have no coffee, because I snarfed mine out through my nose during the writing process. Enjoy.

Part the Fourth

With the setting in place, the ideas started flying within days. My Muse visited just about every evening to check on the progress of the story. Between fleshing out characters and writing new scenes, he managed to teach me a functional amount of Elvish. My pronunciation wasn't the best, but at least I could understand what was being said in conversation and answer most standard questions put to me. I started to get used to walking out of the kitchen or bedroom and finding a pointy-eared blond sprawled or perched on my sofa. The visits became so regular that I began leaving snacks out on the nights I had to work late.

For a couple of weeks, all was going well. That is, until one evening.

To supplement my modest income from published works, I work at a local chain bookstore. Mostly I monitor the inventory and stock the shelves, though they'll occasionally throw me to the register wolves if things get too hectic. During one particularly busy day, work piled up until closing and I ended up extending my shift to help finish it. This, of course, meant no Elf snacks at home.

Which meant that twenty minutes or so after I would have arrived home, I rounded a corner with an armload of books to reshelve and ran smack into a very impatient-looking Elf, complete with crossed arms and tapping foot.

"SONUVA...!" I took a flailing leap backwards and dropped several books. "Where in blue blazes did you come from!"

"_Le ab-dollen_," he replied sourly. "You were supposed to come home and finish the new chapter tonight. Why are you still here?"

"I have work to do." I knelt to gather the dropped books, gritting my teeth when I realized a number of them were fantasy romance novels with typical bodice-ripper illustrated covers. "I'll leave when all the books are put away."

"Then let me help." Before I could protest, he was scooping up the books, frowning at the covers.

Please don't ask, please don't ask.

"What...what kind of text is this?"

Damnit.

"It's a trashy novel. They're written for women who like stories of romance."

Legolas arched an eyebrow at me, dangling the book between finger and thumb like a dead rat. That spark of mischief was in his eyes again.

"So if I were to hunt through your shelves, would I find any examples of this?"

"How emphatically can I say 'no' in Elvish? Do you have a word for 'abso-freaking-lutely not'?"

He had that maddening grin again. I snatched the books away and stalked off toward the shelves, hoping to get rid of the blasted things before my Muse got any scandalous ideas.

"'Chelsea swooned at the heat radiating off his-'...do women here actually read this offal!" Too late. He'd picked up one of the novels and was flipping through it. I trotted faster and shelved as quickly as I could.

"These are pretty cheesy, but as with all writing, there are better ones." I regretted the words even as they were leaving my mouth.

"Oh REALLY?"

Damnit damnit DAMNIT.

He sidled over and leaned an elbow on the shelf I was restocking, deliberately mocking the pose of the shirtless cowboy on the cover of the novel he was waving under my nose with the other hand.

"And which ones do you prefer, _wilwarin_?"

"Don't even go there, Elf. I am not discussing my preferences with you."

"Well let's see. Perhaps I can guess. Obviously, you prefer men. Hmm, the hairy-chested flannel-wearers don't seem your type." He began browsing the other authors in the row while I quietly tried to finish my shelving and sneak the hell away. Just five books to go.

"Perhaps this one? Tall-dark-and-brooding detective meets sassy reporter?"

I scoffed. Don't look at him. Four more to go.

"Hm, no. How about this then: lonely secretary seduced by randy but charming boss?"

"Pfft, please." Three left. Where the hell does this book go?

"Something outlandish then? I've heard of tales from an island far to the east where they're very fond of alien cephalopods."

"GOOD GOD NO!" A passing coworker goggled at my outburst. I felt myself turn red clear to my hairline. "Um...wrong shelf." Elf, I'm going to strangle you with your own bowstring.

"Okaaaaay." The poor guy, who'd only started that morning, scurried away, looking slightly terrified. I thumped my head against the shelf in front of me.

"Ugh...oh there it is." Another one down. And there's the other. Just one book to go.

"Oh here we are. Enchanted knight falls for feisty maiden, complete with accompanying magic spells and dragons."

Crap on a cracker. The blush spread to my ears as I hurriedly tossed the last book into a random spot on the shelf and fled the aisle like Balrogs were nipping at my heels.

"Oh-ho! Have I struck a nerve?" He followed; of course he followed, he was impossible to get rid of. "You can tell me. I'm your Muse, after all. Besides, all I'm asking from you are kisses. I have to find my entertainment somehow."

"Kisses. That's all you get out of this?"

"And the satisfaction of a job well done, yes."

"But isn't that a little...frustrating?"

"That's what imagination and..." The amount of sugary cheek in his grin could've induced diabetic coma. "...private time are for."

"I'll take Things I Never Wanted to Hear My Muse Say and Certainly Don't Ever Want to Hear or Ever Contemplate Again for two thousand, Alex. Go home, Legolas. I'll be there in an hour."

"Do you promise?" Oh god, not the puppy eyes. Anything but that.

"Yes, I promise. And if you must have your private time, don't do it on my couch."

His expression turned an odd shade of solemn. Strong slender fingers tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear, lingering for a moment at the nape of my neck.

"Don't be too long, _wilwarin_." Then he was gone, leaving me wondering what in the name of Davy Crockett's sweat-stained buckskins had just happened. Elves were even more confusing than men. Shaking my head, I went back to work.

(Reviews keep me happy and make me write faster. No seriously, they do. Review and see what happens!)


	5. Chapter 5

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: This is the song that doesn't end...believe me, if I owned the Elf, I'd never leave my apartment.

**Notes**: As requested, I will start putting translations at the end of each chapter. For most of what I've used thus far, I've tried to give context clues, but it's not exactly a common language, so translations will be provided from now on for things that aren't obvious. (Although I did rather hope folks might recognize the line in the previous chapter as "You're late.")

The hell...? What's all this steam doing on the windows? (No smut, just a little fanservice for my lovely reviewers!) I love you all, but I'd like to extend a special thank-you to L8Bleumr, who got me started; OhShirleyUJest, for being my best and toughest critic; and Luna Elen, whose sick-day review was exactly the pick-me-up I needed yesterday. Enjoy the fluff!

Part the Fifth

Legolas was waiting when I arrived home, exactly forty-five minutes later, with a slightly sulky look on his face. Not in the mood for an argument after being dampened in a sudden downpour upon leaving work, I retrieved my laptop, wrapped up in a fuzzy throw blanket, and got to work. There were no inspirational kisses, just revising and refining already existing material. He was relentless, even pickier than I usually am about my prose, such as it is. After nearly an hour of tearing apart the same two paragraphs over and over, I got fed up and closed the lid.

"What is with you tonight?" I demanded. "I'm supposed to be the moody one in this semi-dynamic duo, not you."

"I am not moody," he replied, with a grumpy scowl that would've done a PMSing bulldog proud.

"Then what's all this? You're never this particular, especially about just a few lines." He didn't answer, but the scowl lines smoothed a little. "Is this about me staying late at work? Listen, I'm sorry about that, but sometimes it does happen and extra money means bills get paid on time and spare dollars for Elf snacks. So really it's a good-..."

"I was worried."

That floored me. I blinked, not sure how to respond. I needn't have worried. The dam had broken and the explanation was already tumbling out.

"When I took you to Mirkwood for the first time, when we were ambushed, I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to keep you safe."

"But you did keep me-..." He held up a hand.

"The arrows were never supposed to find a mark. They were supposed to be...what did you call it...flavor text. But no harm was supposed to come to you."

"It was just a scratch, really. I wouldn't call that harm."

"The orcs were never supposed to be able to draw blood. Just as Muses are protected in your world, Charges are protected in mine."

"Charges?"

"As I am your Muse, you are my Charge. A Muse must protect as well as inspire." He leaned forward suddenly, blue eyes earnest. Taken aback, I barely kept my balance. "You were supposed to be safe in Middle Earth. Something is wrong there and I do not know what it is."

"And when I didn't come home, you assumed something bad had happened here?" Ah, now he was making sense. Sort of.

"Is it so outlandish to think that I might be concerned for your safety?"

"Not entirely, no. This world has plenty of hazards without any help from orcs or goblins. But really, I'm all right. I can think on my feet. And in a pinch, I can run like hell." I wasn't going to even contemplate the tired old cliche of "I can take care of myself," especially when neither of us was entirely sure what was happening. As self-reliant as I pride myself on being, it's rather difficult for a girl to consider herself ready when she has no idea what she's up against.

The Elf plucked the computer off my lap and set it carefully aside. He'd only needed one threat of unprintable violence to learn not to toss the laptop. An arm went around my shoulders and he pulled me into what was probably the most unexpected hug I'd ever received. The urge to belt him one flashed for a split second, then faded away as quickly as it had come. We'd shared nothing before aside from a scant few inspirational kisses and I had no desire for any further intimacy. He was demanding, arrogant, ridiculously confusing, and thoroughly annoying...and he smelled like spring rain and new-mown grass.

Damnit.

It was late and I was tired, or at least that was the excuse I gave myself for leaning on him. Anyway, after the chill of the rain outside, he was nice and warm. All hands were staying in the designated appropriate areas, so I decided to tell him off later and just enjoy the cuddle.

"You will be careful, won't you _wilwarin_?" he said softly.

"Of course I will." I sat back slightly, intent on making some small joke to lighten the mood, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold. Oh dear. Ohhh dear.

His palm cupped the side of my face, tilting my chin up. His breath fell on my lips and I shied, doing my best to push him away, but that wiry frame was deceptively strong.

"Not tonight. I don't have the energy for another field trip and I'm not in the mood to be inspired."

His eyes were dark and his voice a velvet growl as he answered. "Who said anything about inspiration?"

The kiss that followed had absolutely nothing to do with settings or descriptions or character development, and everything to do with turning me into a vaguely person-shaped puddle of goo. At which, it turned out, the Elf was a natural; he was warm and sweet, right on that edge between requesting and demanding. When he finally let me up for air, my heart was pounding and the room had risen a good ten degrees in temperature. I was surprised to see the windows weren't covered in fog.

I was also surprised to find myself backed against and partially lying on the arm of the couch, with my Muse leaning over me and, of all things, blushing. (Mind you, when I say blushing, I mean those pointed ears were turning slightly pink. From what I've seen and heard since then, that's about as much of a blush as you'll get from an Elf.) He was only slightly less out of breath than I was and did not seem intent on changing his position. However, when he bent for another kiss, I managed to wriggle my way off the couch, landing on the floor in a somewhat less-than-dignified fashion.

"Oh no you don't!" I scrambled to my feet and tugged slightly askew clothing back into place.

"Have I done something amiss?" Hard as I tried, I couldn't hear any trace of smugness in the words.

"Amiss! Amiss, he says! I'll say something's amiss!"

"Actually, judging from the color of your cheeks, I'd wager my aim has not faltered." Oh there it was. And a pun too. I bit back the urge to do some strangling as he rose, still perfectly unrumpled, save for those tinges of pink in his ears.

"You kissed me!"

"I have before," he said matter-of-factly.

"It was a bit different from the ones for writing purposes, don't you think?"

"You responded, did you not? And seemed to enjoy it; I certainly didn't hear you protesting."

"I'm protesting now!"

"You weren't a moment ago." I ground my teeth, exasperated.

"Listen, I appreciate that you're my Muse and that you're concerned for my well-being, but complicating this with any other kind of...entanglement is a very bad idea. From here on out, no more kisses, except to move the story along."

He tilted his head to one side with a slightly wounded look. "You do not wish for anything more?"

"No, I don't."

He gave me a calculating look and stepped forward until we were practically nose to nose again.

"I do not believe you."

"Whether you believe me or not is irrelevent. I said no and I meant no."

"_Ben iest gîn_, _wilwarin_." When I frowned in confusion at the unfamiliar phrase, he translated. "As you wish. Except in my capacity as a Muse, I shall not kiss you again."

"Thank you."

"Unless you ask me." Cheeky bastard.

"I won't be asking."

He acquired that knowing smile that annoyed me so very, very much, lifted my hand to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. My heart did that funny somersault again. His eyes burned into mine, unblinking.

"Before this story ends, you will ask me to kiss you again." We stared at each other for an endless moment until the yowl of a stray cat outside broke through the silence.

"You've been watching my movies while I'm at work."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps nothing, that's a line from 'First Knight.' Slightly altered, but still!"

Now it was his turn to look annoyed. "It seemed appropriate." I shook my head and sighed.

"I'm going to bed now. Don't get any ideas." The look he gave me plainly said he would have as many ideas as he liked, thank you very much, and just for me, they'd be as illicit as possible. I made good my escape down the hall. As I turned to close the bedroom door, I saw him leaning against the wall at the opposite end of the hallway, his expression unchanged. I squared my shoulders and hoped he wouldn't notice the tremble in my hand as I reached for the door handle. "Good night."

"Sweet dreams, _wilwarin_." How he could make one innocent word sound like the most sensual invitation ever offered a woman, I will never know. I closed the door before I could find out.

(Now go stick your heads in your freezers for a bit and send me those lovely reviews!)


	6. Chapter 6

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Oh for crying out loud, it's becoming painful now!

**Notes**: For those of you wondering if there's a larger plot lurking in the background on this story, yes. Yes there is. And it begins now. Worry not, the romantic subtext will continue as well. We'll just be adding a "Drama" to that genre, and warning to this chapter for mild peril and some gore. Enjoy!

Part the Sixth

The next morning, I awoke to the smell of coffee. Still drowsy, I sniffed for a moment at the pleasantly strong scent before rolling out of bed and fishing my robe out of the closet. I found Legolas in the kitchen, staring intently at a percolating pot of French Vanilla.

"Morning," I yawned. He didn't respond. I went to the cupboard and rummaged around for some mugs. "It's not going to perc any faster if you stare at it."

"Sorry? Oh, good morning." He stretched and rolled his shoulders. "I was thinking."

"Any subject in particular?" I paused the timer on the coffee machine and poured myself a cup. Unsure if Elves drank coffee, I left the other mug out and several cups worth in the pot, then went hunting for the milk.

"Several, in fact. First and foremost, I was wondering if any of the other Muses are experiencing close calls with their Charges."

"I assume you mean with orcs." I stirred in several spoonfuls of sugar. "Wait, what do you mean other Muses?"

"You don't think the rest of the Fellowship has been idle, do you?"

I stared at him incredulously over the rim of my mug. "You must be joking."

"Indeed not. Are you working today?"

"No, I-..."

"Good. Stay here and lock the doors, you should be safe. I will go and confer with the others and find out what I can." He paused, considering something, then drew a slender but very wicked-looking dagger from his boot, flipped it around, and held it out to me, pommel-first. "Do you know how to fight?"

"A little, but not very well. I took a fencing course in college." I took the knife. It was perfectly balanced in my hand, the blade beautifully etched with curling Tengwar script. "Actually, wait here, I want to show you something."

I ran back to the bedroom and pulled a plastic storage bin from under the bed. I hadn't thought about my collection in a good year, not since some close friends had moved away and I got out of the habit of going to Renaissance Faires. I carried the bin back out to the living room. The Elf's eyes widened as I pried off the lid and started carefully removing blades of various shapes and sizes from the box.

"_Wilwarin_, I have underestimated you," he said, almost reverently.

"No, you haven't," I assured him. "I don't know how to use most of these in combat, I just bought them for aesthetic value. Well, except for these." My Kukri knives, in their buckled leather sheaths, were near the bottom of the bin. "These were a gift from a very dear friend and a condition of that gift was that I know how to fight with them. They're hardly your White Knives, but they work." I held one out for inspection. Legolas drew the short, heavy, crescent-shaped blade and turned it over in his hands several times. After a moment, he handed it back with an approving nod.

"These will do nicely." He knelt beside me and gestured to the pile of knives remaining in the bin. "May I?"

"Please. It's not as if you don't know your way around a knife."

We spent a good half hour going through the entire bin, talking shop about blades. A few practical blades were set aside for cleaning and sharpening, while others were admired purely for their form and decorative value. I left Legolas alone for a few minutes to take a shower and get dressed. By the time I returned, he was gone, but the blades were neatly back in the bin and the elegantly carved dagger was sitting on the closed lid beside my Kukri.

Suddenly and unexplainably apprehensive, I dug a pair of combat boots and a belt out of my closet so I could carry the blades comfortably. The motions of strapping on the knives were inexplicably familiar, as was the feeling of slipping the Elven dagger into my boot; it fit perfectly, the pommel resting against the very center of my butterfly tattoo. I wondered as I finished my coffee if he had known it would.

For several hours, nothing happened. Too edgy to sew and unable to concentrate on anything that was on TV, I tried to settle down with a book, then with my laptop, but nothing seemed to help. I cleaned for a while, then experimented with secreting various numbers of daggers on my person. Around noon, I fixed a sandwich, ears ringing from listening so hard. I didn't know what it was I was trying to detect, but all my senses were on high alert.

Which explains why the knock at the door around three nearly made me jump out of my skin. I set aside the leatherbound journal I'd been using to make a portable longhand copy of the story and peered through the peephole.

For a moment, I saw nothing, just empty hallway, but my gut told me not to open the door. A slight scuffling noise was the only warning I had. The blade of a crude-looking but massive sword punched right through the door, missing my stomach by the barest of margins. On the other side of the suddenly flimsy-looking wood, something snarled viciously.

Before I'd even made the decision to run, my feet were already moving. I snatched the journal off the coffee table, kicked the laptop under the couch, and high-tailed it into my bedroom. Just as I was slamming the door and moving my dresser in front of it, I heard the front door give way and a barking voice growling orders.

"Find it, you useless scum! Find it!" I braced my back against the highboy, clutching the leatherbound book tightly, hardly daring to breathe. Not that it mattered, they knew I was here. The laptop was powered down and password protected, I was reasonably certain they wouldn't be able to get to the story file even if they could find the computer. A momentary pang flashed through me and I hoped I'd still be able to use it when this was all over. Then again, that was assuming I was still around when this was all over, which at the moment seemed like a long shot. Armored fists began pounding on the bedroom door behind me and I yelped.

"She must have it with her. Break the door down!"

Oh good, they hadn't found the laptop. But that only meant I was in even more trouble. The bedroom door, not as sturdy as the front door, began to crack under repeated blows. It wasn't long before a fist came completely through the door, bringing with it one of the most awful smells I'd ever encountered: a mixture of filth and sweat and something rotting. I almost gagged, but I managed to keep my sandwich down and draw the Elven dagger from my boot. Idly, I wondered what the Sindarin script meant.

Another fist cracked through the hollow-core wooden barrier. My muscles seemed to move all on their own; the knife slashed down and opened a deep gash across a forearm sheathed in pale greasy skin. The arms' owner let out a shriek; black oily blood splattered across the door. I drew back, shocked at my own actions, and even more shocked when some part of my brain recognized the smell and the shriek and spat out the word "orcs." And not just orcs, but specifically Mordor orcs, as opposed to Uruk-Hai. And thank goodness I didn't have those in my apartment, I'd already have been diced into authoress appetizers.

All this was processed in less than the time it takes to blink, and meanwhile, I still held the knife at the ready while outside the door, the orcs seemed to regroup. The next blow jarred the dresser away from the doorframe. I immediately threw myself against it, trying to hold them back. But the orcs had abandoned fists in favor of axes and the door was only a few seconds away from being kindling. A huge split opened and I saw a twisted face contort into the most disgusting triumphant grin I'd ever seen. I wedged the book under my belt and fumbled for a throwing knife.

Suddenly, an arrow went whistling over my shoulder, sinking straight into the orcs' beady little eye. A heartbeat later, another transfixed the throat of one of his fellows. I whipped around to find my Muse standing beside me, another arrow already nocked.

"Where have you been!" I squeaked.

"Forgive me, _wilwarin_," he said, pegging a third orc right between the eyes. "I was delayed. Do you have it?" I patted the book still tucked into my belt. "Excellent. We need to leave. Immediately." He slung the bow over his shoulder and swept me into his arms. Just as the orcs broke through, his mouth swooped down on mine and the world went dark.

(The plot thickens! Next chapter coming very soon! I won't leave you in the dark for long, I promise!)


	7. Chapter 7

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Painful AND embarrassing at this point.

**Notes**: Thanks for hanging in for the conclusion to that cliffhanger! Here we are in Part 7 and whaddya know, there's a plot! That's right, that plot I kept hinting at all through the first six chapters has finally emerged. There is far more to the Muse/Charge arrangement and the orc attacks than we've seen. Stick around to find out more!

Part the Seventh

I broke away, gasping, and found myself in a familiar-looking courtyard of marble. Ivy covered the pillars and encircled an ornately carved archway. Fallen leaves scuttled across the dais, catching against the legs of a semi-circle of chairs. The stone looked weathered and ancient, bearing the weight of many centuries of culture and tradition.

"Is this...are we in...?"

"_Imladris_," Legolas answered, releasing me at last. "We made our escape just in time."

"_Imladris_. Rivendell. Seriously?" I noted that this time, my clothes had transformed to a comfortably fitted pair of leather trousers and a rich green tunic. My knives, boots, belt, and the leatherbound journal had made the trip unchanged.

"You'll be safe here, _wilwarin_. The others are already here."

"Others? What others?"

"Ah, good. You've made it. We were beginning to worry," came a new voice from behind us. I turned to find a tall elderly fellow in white robes climbing the stone steps. His hair and beard were whiter than snow, and he leaned on a beautifully made staff that looked carved from ivory. Under a rather severe-looking brow, bright blue eyes twinkled merrily, creased at the edges by a welcoming smile. I knew him at once.

"Oh wow. Should I...should I bow or...something?" And fail. All right brain, you're fired. Fortunately, wizards have senses of humor...or at least Gandalf does.

"No, no dear girl," he said with a warm chuckle that made me want to smile. "Legolas told me he was going to fetch his Charge. I am glad you've both returned safely. Do you have it?"

At a nod from my Muse, I pulled the journal from my belt and handed it over. Gandalf flipped through the pages, gave a nod of approval, and handed it back.

"I don't know why, but I had this urge to make a handwritten copy this morning."

"A copy? There is another record of this?" The wizard looked alarmed.

"It's on my...oh hell, you know what computers are, right?" Another nod. "I hid it just before the orcs broke into my apartment. Even if they find the computer, they'll have a hell of a time finding the file and opening it. It's buried pretty deep and I set up a couple of passwords."

Gandalf looked relieved. "Good, good. That should buy us some time. And time, as you should know, is something of which we have precious little nowadays. The Council will convene first thing tomorrow morning. Legolas, quarters have been prepared for your Charge. And I imagine you have some explaining to do."

"Yes," I said acidly, directing a glare at the suddenly sheepish-looking Elf. "Yes he does."

The quarters Gandalf had mentioned were easily the most lavish I'd ever seen, let alone stayed in. The furniture was all intricately carved, from a design of spreading branches on the headboard of the bed to the flowered vine meandering along the edge of the bookcase shelves. Rich tapestries covered the walls, the evening sunlight pouring in through the windows highlighting scenes of-...

"Elf, get your hand off my ass."

He was grinning again when I turned around, fully prepared to leave bruises. He held up a small crumbly-looking bit of dead leaf, as if I was going to believe he was innocently removing a bit of debris from my bottom. The earlier gratitude I'd felt for his timely arrival was swiftly giving way to annoyance, and that was only compounded by all the things I was about to ask him.

"So do you want to tell me what exactly is going on?"

"Specifically?" he asked, settling into a chair.

"Oh I don't know. Why don't we start with the fact that you conveniently left out that there was a distinct possibility I'd have orcs battering down my front door by the end of the day when you left? I am never going to get my security deposit back, you do realize that, don't you? I'm fairly certain my renter's insurance does NOT cover 'acts of monster.' And while we're at it, why did I spend the entire day on edge? How did I know to make a copy of the story and then hide my computer? And how in all BLOODY hell did I know how to use that knife you gave me?"

"Ah. Yes. That." As it turns out, Elves give good squirm when they're cornered, or at least Legolas does. It was subtle, but it was there. "You might want to sit down." I sat on the edge of the bed, crossed my arms, and glared as hard as I possibly could.

"Speak."

"It's actually somewhat my fault. Muses tend to have something in common with their Charges to begin with. It's part of how we are drawn to the ones who need our inspiration. Whether the skills and qualities are active or latent, they are there. So if you sensed danger and felt the need to protect the story, then you must already have a very strong intuition. Spending time with me has only sharpened those instincts."

"And the sudden skill with a knife? Is that from you too?"

"Partially. You did mention that the friend who gave you those knives taught you to use them. I suspect you did not need to alter those skills very much to use the dagger I gave you."

"All right, satisfactory explanations. But you're still forgetting the orcs that decided to give me the world's smelliest candygram. Any thoughts on that?"

"For that, I must apologize," he said, rather more sincerely than I was expecting. "I did not think they would find you so soon."

"Wait...you KNEW they were coming?" Only a sudden digging of my nails into the counterpane stopped me from leaping across the room to decrease the Muse population by one Elf. "You KNEW and you said NOTHING?" I could hear myself getting shrill, but I was too pissed off to care.

"While we knew the barriers between your world and ours were wearing thin in places, we did not know the enemy had already broken through. I had thought I would be able to slip away to Rivendell, get the information I needed, and return to you faster than I was able." He leaned his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. "Forgive me, _wilwarin_. Once again, I failed to protect you."

Despite the fact that I'd very nearly been killed less than an hour before, and despite the fact that he had a very valid point, I just couldn't stay mad at him, not when he looked like he'd already beaten himself up fairly thoroughly for his mistake. Sighing, I slid off the bed, took a knee beside the chair, and patted his knee.

"Hey, really, it's...I'm all right." He turned his head to look at me; his eyes were so sad, it wrenched at my heart. His hand slid to cover mine and squeezed.

"You could have died. I was not there to protect you and you could have died."

"But I didn't. You saved me. Arrived in the nick of time and swept me off to safety. Almost as good as a storybook." I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, I'm sure there are thousands of girls out there who'd be thrilled comatose to have you as a Muse. You'd find somebody else to inspire." He scoffed.

"Swooning schoolgirls eager to throw themselves at me any way they can. I can hardly wait."

"Oh, it's not as bad as all that. Surely you've had Charges who were deeper than that."

"There have been a few who took the craft seriously enough to bring the vision to life properly."

"You see? You'd find someone like me to carry on the story."

He turned to look me in the eye, with that direct, heated gaze that consistently took me off-guard.

"Not like you, _wilwarin_." His lips brushed my forehead and his hand tightened on mine again. "Not like you." He pulled me into his arms again. No flirtation this time, no sneaky attempts to steal a kiss, he just held me. And to my surprise, it felt good; like being in a warm safe place that I felt absolutely no desire to leave. I'd never let him know it, but I really was grateful to him for saving my life. That and nearly being sliced and diced by a gang of orcs really puts a girl in the mood to be held for a while. Show me a woman who'll turn down some nice comforting hugs from a handsome Elf after she's been terrorized by slavering monsters and I'll show you a filthy liar.

We sat that way for a long time, seeing as neither of us wanted to move. I only shifted because my leg started to fall asleep. Legolas smiled indulgently and helped me stand. I hopped for a second while the pins and needles faded, then realized my leg wasn't the only bit of me ready to fall asleep. The huge jaw-cracking yawn kind of gave it away.

"I think we could both use some rest," he mused, turning to go. "I have quarters down the hall. I will see you in the morning."

"Wait..." What was I doing? Oh right. Something stupid.

He paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

"I..." Oh no, you don't get to chicken out now. Say it. "I don't really want to be alone. Could you...would you stay?" If I didn't know better, I'd swear his ears perked up. "Don't get any ideas. I just want some company. Nice platonic company. Got that?"

He just grinned. "I'll return in a moment." I quickly found some suitable sleeping attire in the wardrobe and washed up in the basin on the table under the window. I was turning down the bedclothes by the time Legolas returned, apparently having found sleepwear of his own. It nearly gave me a heart attack, seeing as he'd either forgone or forgotten a shirt. That earned him a glare, but he just smiled innocently and shrugged. I rolled my eyes and settled into bed. He stretched out beside me, resting one hand in the saddle of my waist. I waited for the ass-grab and was surprised when it didn't come.

Drowsiness crept up on both of us on silent feet. My eyelids grew heavy and eventually fell shut. The Elf stayed awake a bit longer, a fact I know only because he was coherent enough to brush my hair out of my face. Dimly, I heard him whisper something.

"_Le no an-uir nîn_?"

I tried to summon the will to ask him what it meant, but dreams pulled me under and I slept.

(No translation on that last one, kiddies. You'll find out when she does! And if you figure it out beforehand, don't you dare spoil it for everyone else. In the meantime, review!)


	8. Chapter 8

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?

**Notes**: This chapter brought to you by the music of Coyote Run and 30 Seconds to Mars. Enjoy the imagery and the...well, you'll see. *wink*

Part the Eighth

I didn't sleep for long. Insomnia and I have been friends for far too long for me to simply lay down and sleep till morning. So it came as no surprise to me when my eyes popped open well before morning, in the dark interminable hours after midnight. Legolas was fast asleep beside me, one hand tucked under his pillow; the other had migrated from my waist to the small of my back. I studied him for a moment, while I could get away with it without incurring that irritating grin.

The furrow that I was used to seeing on his brow was smoothed and invisible in sleep. Somnolence revealed none of the innocence one might have expected to see. That made sense, as I thought of it. At the very least, he was several hundred years older than he looked, and longevity, even in peaceful times, has a way of leeching away any trace of innocence that might remain in even the most whimsical of souls. He really was quite handsome, I wasn't going to deny that. I don't usually go for blonds, but I've always liked my men on the wiry side and I'm a sucker for a pair of blue eyes. Surely someone somewhere had conspired to bring this about, and if I ever found out who, I was going to have an argument with myself over whether to slug them or shake their hand.

I laid awake for a while, alternately trying to close my eyes and watching the pattern of shadows cast by wind-tossed tree branches dancing in the breeze outside the window. I tried counting sheep, then counting backwards, then telling myself a story in my head, then meditating. Nothing worked. I was wide awake and sleep would not come.

Sighing, I slid out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping Elf. I found a light blanket tossed over a chair, wrapped it around my shoulders, and padded out of the room, closing the door behind me.

The night was cool and still. Everywhere I looked, moonlight gleamed on white stone and silvered the leaves of slumbering trees. Here and there, the wind disturbed the branches and the trees tossed their limbs as if they were dreaming. I'd forgotten my shoes and the marble was smooth and cold beneath my bare feet. I'd only gone a little way when the hall widened into a balcony, which overlooked a stunning view of the valley below. It's next to impossible to convey how breathtaking was that sight. Picture standing on the balcony of a top-floor suite in the fanciest hotel you've ever seen, with the entire city spread out before you. Now instead of modern buildings and glaring lights and billboards, imagine alabaster stone worked into graceful domes and arches, interspersed with massive trees, and the sky, undimmed by light pollution, arching endlessly over all, with the moon and millions of stars, like diamond dust on indigo velvet, wheeling overhead. Instead of the hum of traffic, the breath of the wind and the trees whispering to each other in an ancient tongue lost to the minds of men. And in the middle of it, there you stand, awake in a dreaming world you've never seen before but somehow, deep inside, have known for all your life.

I don't know how long I stood there, entranced, but the sound of a footstep beside me nearly sent me out of my skin. A few feet away, someone else had decided to take in the view and was leaning against the rail. He, however, had had the sense to dress against the chill before leaving his room. I couldn't see much apart from a long cloak, but his arms, where they rested on the stone, were covered by leather bracers. A large striking ring winked from one of his hands, which spoke of a long and committed relationship with a very heavy sword.

"My apologies. I did not mean to startle you." He had a nice voice, low and rich, with an easy smile flickering around the edges. "I am inclined to wander when I cannot sleep, something we seem to have in common."

"Looks like it," I replied, surreptitiously rearranging my blanket-shawl to cover the fact that I'd worn a rather revealing tank top to bed, under which I was having the problem that every woman who's ever worn a thin shirt in cold weather knows all too well. The moonlight washed most of the color from the scene, but I could make out the profile of my fellow insomniac. He turned and caught me squinting at him before I could make out more than a few details. I flushed, but at least I could see to whom I was speaking. He had a pleasant face with the same easy smile I'd heard in his voice, and his clothing spoke of wealth and position. Of course, that only made me realize that I was out and about in my pjs. The trousers would pass, but I doubted the camisole, which usually doesn't see the light of day without another layer over top, would.

"Are you one of the Charges then? I've met most of the others, but I have not seen you before."

"I just arrived earlier tonight." I don't know how I managed to hold onto the shreds of my poise, but I'm proud to say that I did. It's rather difficult to be dignified when you're talking to strangers in your underwear.

"I should recall my manners then." He stuck out a hand in greeting. "Boromir of Gondor." I wormed one hand out from under my blanket to shake.

"Malina of...somewhere else." He smiled warmly and bent to kiss my outstretched hand.

"Charmed." Oh hell. Did all the males of Middle Earth have to make greetings flirtatious? I snatched my hand away as quickly as I could without seeming rude. He didn't appear to be offended, but he did sidle one step closer. Having honed my avoidance techniques on Legolas, I wasn't going to worry unless he started developing a case of Sneaky Hands, at which point he would also come down with a bout of Broken Nose. Besides, I was starting to get cold and the idea of a warm body standing next to me was starting to look rather appealing.

"So unless I miss my guess, you're the Elf's Charge, yes?" I nodded. "How are you getting on with him?"

"Well enough, I suppose, when he's not behaving in a way that makes me want to kill him. It's better lately, but then last-second rescues will do that." Briefly, I explained the rabble of orcs who'd come calling. It was strange to think that it had been less than a day. The thought of how close I'd been to death sent a shiver through me.

"Forgive me, are you cold?" Before I could say anything, he'd shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it snugly around my shoulders. Seeing as he had a good foot on me in height, it fit like a tent, but it was deliciously warm and I wasn't about to argue. I did have a slight objection to the way his hands were lingering on the task of smoothing the folded hood over my shoulders. "There. Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you." He was getting that annoying leer that men seem to think is charming. Quick, change the subject. "Nice view, isn't it?"

"Lovely." Oh no you don't. And without even an attempt to disguise the downward glance at the nice little arrow of cleavage revealed by my apparel. "I would not expect a creature of your beauty to be wandering alone in the dead of night in the halls of Rivendell without more on." Classy.

"Moron is something of which I've had my fill. In fact, there's one asleep in my quarters and I should get back." It was abrupt and it was rude and I did not care.

"Very well. You can return the cloak in the morning, if you like. I would not want you to catch cold on your way back." If that supposedly-charming leer didn't make itself scarce, I was going to make it an endangered species.

"Thank you. Good night." As I turned to go, he caught my elbow and drew me back. His eyes were earnest, but that wicked smile still played around the corners of his mouth.

"Malina...this is not an easy business, this creation of stories. I cannot imagine the situation is helped by finding yourself so far from home. Should you ever find you need a friendly ear, please do not hesitate to find me."

What exactly, I ask you, does a girl say to something like that? Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, I remained silent and, with one last stony-eyed glance, headed back along the hall the way I had come. Despite feeling his eyes on me, I didn't run. I couldn't have run, I would have tripped on that monstrous cloak and made a complete ass of myself. But that was certainly the fastest shuffle ever seen in Rivendell.

I swept back into the room with a relieved sigh, only to find a sleep-rumpled and very grumpy-looking Elf sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me. He'd put on a tunic against the midnight chill, for which I was thankful. His eyes narrowed when he saw the cloak, apparently recognizing it.

"Should I bother asking where you have been?" he said in a tight, angry voice.

"I couldn't sleep," I said simply. "I went for a walk. I met Boromir and he lent me his cloak." I tossed the mentioned item of clothing over the back of a chair. "Move over, my feet are cold." Instead of making room for me, as he might have a few hours before, Legolas sprang to his feet and seized me by the shoulders, nearly earning himself the broken nose I'd been queuing up for Gondor's Golden Boy.

"Stay away from him," he growled. "I don't want him anywhere near you." Now, I'm a fairly permissive and progressive kind of girl. There are a lot of male behaviors that I will tolerate that mystify, irritate, or downright infuriate other women. Possessiveness, however, was near the top of my Absolutely-Not List, especially when the male party in question is in no position to be possessive.

"Legolas," I said slowly, feeling a mean little thrill when he started back at the use of his name, "You have exactly two seconds to take your hands off me before I do to you what the French did to the Welsh bowmen." That got his attention. His grip loosened; I'd probably still have marks, but at least they wouldn't be bruises, and he seemed to be listening more attentively. "Now what is the matter with you?"

"You met him under cover of night. You were wearing his cloak."

"Oh for the love of...I just met the man not twenty minutes ago! We talked, that was all! Verbal communication of a non-flirtatious variety. Well, at least for my part. He loaned me his cloak because I was cold."

Legolas narrowed his eyes again. "I do not consider this weather cold."

"You also run on top of four-foot snowdrifts wearing tights. I don't think you're really in a position to tell me whether I should be bothered by a change in temperature." I could feel the color of fury rising in my cheeks. "And even if it was more than just talk, you don't own me. I am free to speak to whomever I choose."

"But you're MY Charge!"

"Oh and you think that gives you the right? I have news for you, friend: I don't take kindly to jealousy and if you think that kind of behavior is going to fly with me, you are DREAMING."

We glared at each other for a long moment, the tension in the room rising to a thickness that would have required a chainsaw to cut it. Finally, seeming to clamp down on his temper, he spoke.

"You do not understand."

"Then enlighten me."

"Boromir is not a bad Man. He has his faults, as we all do, but he has a good heart. Unfortunately, he also has a history of seducing Charges, and not always just his own." A brief flash of hurt showed in the depths of his eyes and I began to understand. "The relationship between Muses and their Charges is always a temporary one and it is destined to end when the story is over. He promised them something more, something none of us could ever give."

"Permanence," I interjected without meaning to. Legolas nodded, that furrow back in his brow.

"If I seem bold or presumptuous, _wilwarin_, it is because I know my time with you is limited. Once this story ends, I may never see you again and it troubles me to think so." He rested his forehead against mine and sighed. "There is a connection between us, however much you tell yourself you believe otherwise, and it will pain me when it is broken. All I can do is make the most of the time that I have with you. So I beg you, do not seek him out. I may not be able to offer you forever, but neither can he, and I will not see him break the heart of my Charge." He seemed to need to hold me then; I was happy to let him and leaned my head on his shoulder.

"I may not be sure of this connection thing, but...when this is over, I think I'm going to miss you too," I admitted.

"_Goheno nin, wilwarin,_" he murmured against my hair. "Forgive my jealousy. I do not want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me. Especially not to some overconfident womanizing blowhard."

I had told Legolas, and I believe I had told him quite firmly, that he was not allowed any kisses outside of his Muse duties until I said otherwise. But given that the one he gave me as soon as I'd finished speaking produced a sizzle that warmed me right to my frozen toes, I supposed I could let him have his way, just this once. It wasn't until I felt my back hit the bed that I realized he'd pulled a fast one.

(Special thanks to Kiba, my sounding board, for helping me work out all this dialogue! Review, kiddies!)

_Goheno nin_ - Forgive me


	9. Chapter 9

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: You're a cruel mistress, Lady Legality.

**Notes**: This update is dedicated to Elendulin and Mad Ink, who demanded I get off my lazy butt and finish this chapter. Cheers, you two!

Part the Ninth

I will say this for my Muse: he does not waste time. I do not know, even now, how old he really is, or when he had his first kiss, but from what I could tell, he'd spent a considerable amount of time refining his technique over the years. Ten minutes later, kissed nearly senseless, sprawled on my back among a tangle of blankets and pillows with a odd pleasant tickle in the pit of my stomach, I finally managed to catch my breath long enough to speak.

"_Sa farn palan_."

Legolas raised himself up slightly, with a look in his eyes as if he was holding back a great bellow of laughter.

"Somehow I feel I shouldn't be surprised that your first words in Elvish are 'that's far enough,'" he said, his eyes dancing with merriment. He made no move to change his position, which was sprawled on top of me.

"Well, you were supposed to wait until I asked you," I said, though not as sourly as I might have. It's difficult to be prickly when your heart is going a mile a minute.

"How am I to wait when you say such things to tempt me?" he murmured, leaning down to nibble at the side of my neck, then recoiling with an "Ouch!" when I gave a hearty flick to one pointed ear.

"_Daro i!_"

"And that would be the other phrase I shouldn't be surprised you've learned." He rubbed the injured ear ruefully and rolled to lay beside me, apparently preferring not to risk another flicking. I turned to face him, snuggling closer as he pulled the blankets up over the two of us. His arm found its' way around me again. A smile I hadn't seen before curved his mouth. Not the annoyingly mischievous one I was used to, nor the ingratiating one that was usually accompanied with a soulful look from those big blue eyes, but something softer, sweeter.

"Despite the fact that you've managed to turn it against me, I am glad you've been paying attention," he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose.

"You certainly do run hot and cold," I observed. "A moment ago, you were fuming. Now I half-expect you to start spouting poetry."

"If I did, would it garner me another kiss?" he asked with one eyebrow saucily raised.

"No, it would not."

He gave an aggrieved sigh. "I had to try. Ah _wilwarin_, must you make me wait when even now our time grows ever shorter?"

"What did I say about poetry?"

"Would it earn me something nicer than a kiss?" My reply made him blink. "I did not teach you that."

"Aren't I just full of surprises?"

"Indeed you are, _wilwarin_," he smiled, cupping the side of my face in his hand and stroking my cheek with his thumb. "Indeed you are." I tensed, expecting him to try for another kiss, but he didn't. Somehow or other, his shoulder wound up under my head. I wasn't going to complain; he made a good pillow.

The morning found us still tangled together and surprisingly (as least on my part) well-rested. Legolas retreated to his room to dress, after making the obligatory crack about helping me with my clothes and swiftly dodging the boot I aimed at his head. In his absence, I managed to find and don my clothes from the day before, which hadn't been worn long enough to be considered soiled. It wasn't until I was halfway through lacing the tunic that I realized the motions were easy, familiar. I'd laced bodices and a few pairs of boots for theater productions, but it still always felt like a costume. These garments felt different, like a favorite t-shirt and pair of jeans, only much more durable. Yet another thing I could chalk up to this strange bond with my Muse, I supposed.

He returned as I was brushing out my hair. A brief flash of disappointment crossed his face (I'm fairly certain he was hoping to catch me half-dressed), then that warm smile made another appearance. I'm not normally a self-conscious girl, but I know where my assets lie, and my hair is one of them. I've grown it out for years and the unbound length of it falls nearly to my hips. It gets in the way a lot, so I usually braid it or tie it up in a bun. "Usually" here having the meaning of "almost always."

So, I suppose I can picture what the Elf was seeing: his Charge, in Elven garb, sitting in the window, combing out her long hair, with the morning sunlight catching the lighter strands. Yes, that would explain that smile. I rolled my eyes at him, flicked my hair over my shoulder, divided it into three sections, and started braiding.

"I have news. Gandalf has gone to fetch the remaining Muses and their Charges from the Shire." Legolas settled into a chair opposite me. "You and I are not the only ones who have had encounters with orcs recently."

"Really? Who else have they been trying to shishkebab?"

"Aragorn's Charge, for one." He grimaced. "She is...well, you'll see." I didn't like the sound of that, but I let it go for the moment. "A council is being convened to discuss what must be done, but the first order of business is to gather all the Charges in one place for safety."

"I assume that will be here in Rivendell, yes?"

"Mae. In a few days' time, when Gandalf and the Hobbits return-..."

"Wait, the Hobbits are Muses?"

"When I said none of us have been idle, I did mean it."

"So, how does this inspirational kiss business work for Aragorn? How does Arwen feel about it?"

"She is...resigned to it," Legolas replied with a wry smile. "In the beginning, it was only Estel who parceled out inspiration. Elves are not generally jealous creatures, except when it comes to matters of the heart. Eventually, Arwen demanded her own Museship. They argue less frequently now that she has Charges of her own."

"One would think that would make it worse!"

"They are indeed a singular couple. I do not envy them their complications, but they are happy together."

"More power to them, then. If Gandalf has gone to fetch the Hobbits, does that means the other Muses and Charges are already here?"

"They have been here for some time. You and I were the only ones not in the middle of an inspiration when the broken barriers were discovered, so the Charges belonging to Aragorn, Boromir, Gandalf, and Gimli were already safely in Middle Earth. I do not know for sure if the Hobbits' Charges were here, but in any case, they are being fetched."

I tied off my braid, then did a double take at the intricate fishtail plait I'd created without realizing it.

"I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised at this sort of thing anymore."

"It suits you, _wilwarin_."

"If my ears develop points, I'm going to have strong words with somebody. So what are we to do in the meantime?"

"If I suggested what I was actually thinking, I suspect you would hit me with with something."

"Probably that chair," I agreed.

"As I expected. Therefore, I suggest we make our way to the sparring grounds. I want a better measure of your skill with those knives."

"You think I might have to use them." It wasn't a question.

"Possibly. It would give me peace of mind to know that if the situation should arise, you would be able to defend yourself." He was giving me that sweet concerned look again.

"Then let's not waste any time." I pulled on my boots and slipped my various knives into their hiding places.

We passed Boromir on our way down to the sparring grounds. He smiled invitingly and started to speak, only to be quelled by a single dagger-eyed look from my Muse. They seemed to have...well, whatever the staring equivalent is of a pissing contest, which Boromir graciously conceded with a single nod before turning back to the balcony where we'd met the night before.

About halfway across a massive courtyard, we ran into another member of the Fellowship and this time I had to fight the urge to curtsy. Aragorn inspires that sort of behavior. He and Legolas greeted each other like brothers and spent a moment catching up with a rapid-fire exchange in Elvish. Not wanting to just stand there like an idiot, I decided to introduce myself to the young woman who'd been chatting with the King when we arrived. I assumed, correctly, that she was his Charge.

She was gorgeous, in that way that the popular girls in high school are gorgeous: utterly unattainably perfect. Her clothes were all of rich, sumptuous fabric with beautiful embroidered patterns and she carried herself like a princess. Unfortunately, as seems to happen, the illusion shattered the second she opened her mouth.

"So you're the Elf's Charge?" she asked in snippy response to my perfectly cordial greeting.

"Er...yes. My name's Malina. Nice to meet you."

"Amber." And with the name came a snotty upward tilt of that perfect nose. I recognized the gesture and it instantly set my teeth on edge. "You know, it's weird," she continued, in a tone that did nothing to improve my opinion of her manners.

"What is?"

She jerked her chin toward Legolas, still engrossed in conversation with Aragorn. "He's royalty too, yanno. He could have anybody he wanted. Instead he's saddled with someone like you."

"And what, precisely," I asked, fingering the hilt of one of my knives, "is the matter with that?"

Amber tossed her hair and gave me a rudely assessing once-over. "You'd think the Elfs' Charge would be, I dunno, prettier."

Now I'm no supermodel and I'd shoot myself if anyone ever called me one. I'm uncompromisingly short (I'm lucky if I make five-and-a-half feet wearing heels), and I am not nor have I ever been a size four. However, I am proud of my size ten curves, my long wavy hair, my dark eyes, high cheekbones, and pretty smile. I may not be the queen of the prom, but I turn my share of heads. And furthermore, my Muse seemed to think I was more than worth his time.

I also have a hair-trigger Irish temper, which is likely what prompted me to fire back.

"Funny, you'd think the Kings' Charge would be smarter."

Amber's eyes flashed and her delicately manicured fingers curled into claws. I was more than ready for her to spring at me, but our Muses intervened.

"You must be Malina," said the King, forcibly moving Amber behind him and smiling a greeting.

Legolas clamped a hand on my elbow and whispered, "Behave."

"I will if she does," I hissed back.

A few minutes of forced pleasantries and barbed comments proved otherwise and our Muses took us in opposite directions before things came to blows. Privately, as we continued on our way, I hoped the other Charges were better company than Amber.

(I'll try not to take quite so long with the next chapter. Love you all!)

_Sa farn palan_ - That's far enough

_Daro i_ - Stop that


	10. Chapter 10

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: All hail Tolkien!

**Notes**: Sorry for the long wait and the short chapter. Had a little trouble getting this to come out the way I wanted, but I love you guys too much to give you something sub-par for the sake of updating. I'll be away this weekend, but hopefully this will get my brain moving again. For all you horse fans, here's a treat!

Part the Tenth

As it turned out, the Elf had more up his sleeve than just a trip to the sparring grounds. Still fuming from my confrontation with Amber, and feeling more than a bit sorry for Aragorn for having to put up with her, I didn't notice our detour until I felt straw crunching beneath my feet. We'd arrived at a section of fencing. Not a whole fence, just a section, about four feet high, which I found odd. Then I noticed the horses.

There were a dozen or so of them, happily grazing in a large clearing among the trees. Bays tossed their black manes and nickered at golden palominos with nodding white tails. Mind you, I've only ever ridden on trail horses: slow, plodding, patient things saddled with heavy tack and accustomed to inexperienced riders. These horses looked a few short steps away from wild. Not a stall or a picket rope was in sight. A few odd sections of fence stood scattered around the perimeter of the clearing, but the spaces between were more than large enough for the horses to walk between.

While I puzzled over this new mystery, Legolas nimbly scaled our section of the fence and whistled twice. I saw a forest of ears prick up and swivel in our direction. Most of the horses went back to their grazing, but one trotted toward the fence as if called. I scrambled up for a better look and caught my breath.

The mare was beautiful. Jet-black from nose to flanks with a mane and tail to match, with soft dark eyes and a graceful, if haughty, arch to her neck. Her hooves flashed like silver in the tall grass. My Muse chattered away to her in Elvish, of which I caught very little, but the horse seemed to understand perfectly. She pawed at the ground and snorted, then nosed him hard in the chest, nearly knocking him from his perch. This only made him laugh. It wasn't until she started snuffling insistently at his pockets that he relented and produced a treat that was gone so quickly that if I hadn't seen a flash of bright orange, I wouldn't have known it was a carrot.

As she stood there munching, the mare seemed to suddenly acknowledge my presence. Her eyes locked onto me and her ears flicked back and forth. She tilted her head inquisitively at the Elf, who responded with another string of Sindarin that had my name mixed up in it somewhere. She snorted again and he grinned.

"She's jealous," he said, finally letting me in on their little game. "She's not used to having to share me." He patted the railing next to him and I carefully scooted over, locking my feet around a lower rung to keep my balance.

"I would think she'd be used to your Charges by now."

"One of the first ones was afraid of horses. She ran screaming all the way back to the council hall. It did not go over particularly well with anybody. I haven't brought anyone back here since then." He gave a sidelong glance at my hands, which were firmly clenched on the wooden beam, gave a sigh, and pried one loose. "Here. Endear yourself." He dropped a chunk of carrot into my hand and forcibly stuck my arm out, ignoring my squawk of protest and desperate flail for balance. "Keep your palm flat."

The mare eyed my outstretched hand suspiciously, but the allure of the crunchy morsel won her over. I kept my palm as flat as I could as she sniffed my fingers, then with a great whuffling sound, buried her muzzle in my palm. I fought the urge to giggle as her lips scoured my hand and scooped up the carrot, crunching it between her teeth with a satisfied toss of her head. When an exploratory sniff failed to yield more munchables on my person, I received the same forceful nudge as the Elf, only in my case I toppled right off the fence.

"She likes you," Legolas grinned as the mare stood by, swishing her tail.

"You don't say," I replied sourly, climbing back up. "I shudder to think what she would do if she didn't."

"Her name is Avari," the Elf said, not-quite-successfully hiding a smirk at my utter-lack-of-grace-ful ascent.

"That's lovely." Finally settling myself, I dared to stretch out a hand to stroke her soft muzzle. Her nose felt like velvet and her breath whooshed over my fingers. I couldn't help giggling like a giddy schoolgirl; horses have that effect on me. (Actually, from what I've heard, horses have that effect on a LOT of women.) Legolas gave a snort.

"It means 'stubborn,'" he said. "And believe me, she earns it." Avari raised her head and whuffed in his face, blowing his hair every which way. I nearly made another fall from the fence as laughter overcame me. The horse whinnied and tossed her head, apparently just as amused with her antics as I was. Legolas just looked annoyed and disheveled. "So glad the two of you agree." Then his eyes gleamed wickedly. "Would you like to ride her?"

"Wait, what?" I spluttered. Seconds later, despite my protests, I found myself mounted bareback on the horse, with nary a saddle, strap, or rein to be seen. Legolas stood by, grinning in that irritatingly triumphant manner. "What do I hold onto!"

"Her mane!" I braced myself and gripped with my knees, praying to whatever deities might inhabit Middle Earth that I wouldn't break my neck, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. When I finally cracked one eye open, everything remained standing still, which prompted a glare.

"You did that on purpose."

"Of course I did." He swung up onto the horse behind me. "It's a long walk to the sparring grounds. I thought you might enjoy the ride."

"I hate you so much."

"Keep telling yourself that, _wilwarin_." And we were off.

(So for the next three days, I will be surrounded by lots of trees and beautiful blue skies. Hopefully, that will get the creative juices flowing properly. Review please!)


	11. Chapter 11

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Screw this. As soon as I get a better job, I'm going back to that auction house, and this time, I'm gonna win!

**Notes**: Bless you all for being so patient with me. The weekend away turned out to be a bit of a wash, thanks to torrential rains and lousy tent placement (let's hear it for waking up in a mud puddle at 4am), but it was exactly the break my brain needed. I knew this chapter was going to be difficult, as it is a sort of turning point in the story. I mean, I'm on Chapter 11 here, I should start giving you some damned plot already, right? Well here you go! Enjoy!

Part the Eleventh

The first minute or so of the ride was rather bumpy. Everyone sees horseback riding in movies and it's lovely and smooth and looks very easy. Not remotely so. Walking is fine, cantering is only mildly jolting once you find your seat, but the trot that comes between is the most teeth-clacking, bone-jarring thing you can imagine. Add to that the difficulty of doing so bareback, with nothing to do but hang on with your knees and a handful of mane and pray, and it can be a rather harrowing experience indeed.

Fortunately, the sparring grounds weren't far away. I successfully kept myself from falling over and kissing the sweet, stable, unmoving ground when we arrived, but only just barely. Avari wandered off to graze while I steadied myself against a low stone wall and waited for my legs to stop shaking. Not even ruffled by the trip, Legolas scanned the empty field as if searching for hidden dangers. At that particular moment, I wouldn't have cared if there were raptors in the tall grass, I was just glad to not be moving.

"All right," he said abruptly, "let's see what you can do with those knives."

"Are you clean out of your pointy-eared head?" I panted. "Give a girl a minute to breathe!"

"Would the orcs have let you breathe?" he asked sharply, drawing his own knives. "Would they have let you recover your balance at your leisure?" I yelped and leapt backward as he took a swipe at my ribs.

"You are mad, aren't you!" He made no reply; his next strike was so close that I had to dive to get out of the way. I tumbled to a stop a few feet away and drew my knives as I stood up.

"That's better. Now defend yourself."

I brought my hands up to block, but his attack was much slower, slow enough that I was in fact able to defend properly.

"Good. Again."

Ah, so that was his game. Fair enough. He took me through the motions of attack and defense over and over, until the movements seemed as natural as breathing. The lessons I'd had before, which now seemed a bit meager by comparison, came flooding back; there is indeed something to be said for muscle memory. With each repetition, the techniques came more easily and the speed of the passes increased, until our knives were flashes of silver under the waning sun.

It wasn't until we paused for breath (which apparently I was allowed to have, when he felt like it) that I noticed how overcast the sky had become. Well, really, I only noticed when a raindrop splashed onto my nose. We had exactly five seconds to stare at the sky and wonder before the heavens opened, at which point there was a mutual dash for the shelter of the closest tree. That didn't save either one of us from a good soaking, so fast and heavy was the rain. Avari continued grazing contentedly, apparently unconcerned with the change in the weather.

"Well, this is a fine cauldron of carp," I grumbled, wringing out the hem of my shirt; I might've tried to bail out the Titanic with a soup can for all the good it did.

"The weather can turn quickly here," Legolas mused, watching the sky, his eyes still steely. "Fortunately, this is a mild storm. It will pass in an hour or two."

"Good thing it's not like the weather in New England." At his questioning look, I repeated the old adages. "Well, they say if you're in Florida and you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. But if you're in New England and don't like the weather...well, move someplace else." No chuckle. Not even a hint of a smile. "That's a joke. Generally, you're supposed to laugh at them." Still nothing. "Or would you rather talk about what's actually bothering you."

"You're not ready," he said flatly.

"Not ready to hear what's bothering you? I'm afraid I'll have to disagree. You've been pretty straightforward with me thus far, sometimes with a little too much emphasis on the forward, but I have yet to encounter some part of this whole business that I can't handle."

"To fight," he finished, giving me a slightly annoyed glance for jumping the gun. "You have some skill with a knife, but in pitched battle-..."

"Wait, what battle? Since when is there going to be a battle?"

"Orcs have begun to make forays along the borders of these lands, under the command of persons unknown." His eyes were distant, scanning the horizon and the treeline for threats, real or imagined. "Sooner or later, it will come to a fight."

"And you were going to tell me this when exactly?" I asked, trying very hard not to splutter. "I signed on to write a story, not emulate Xena, Warrior Princess! I mean, I can defend myself if need be, but I'm not a fighter!"

"The time may come when you need to be, Malina." Something jerked painfully in my chest at the way he said my name. Not the usual affectionate moniker, but my given name, as solemn as an obituary. Unsure how to respond to this, I turned to face out into the meadow and said nothing, wrapping my hands around my arms. The shivers that went through me had more to do with temper than temperature. For a long time, the only sound was the rain pattering on the leaves, soft as a sigh and loud as thunder.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" I said finally. "Anything else you haven't told me?" I heard him sigh and a moment later, his hands slid over my shoulders.

"I did not want to lie to you, but my worry kept me silent. Forgive me." He rested his cheek on my hair, which was plastered to my scalp with rainwater. "I see the strength in you, but the future remains uncertain. This is an unforeseen challenge, but one to which you must rise if we are to have any hope of succeeding." Not knowing what to say to that, I nodded to signal that I understood, even if I didn't entirely agree. Another long silence stretched out between us like a cat on a windowsill.

"And here I just thought you'd dragged me out into a meadow in a rainstorm to take advantage of yet another convenient opportunity to get me alone."

"Convenient? What about this strikes you as convenient?" Incredulity. Yeah, I'll take that over quiet-and-brooding any day, thank you.

"Oh I don't know. The horse, the scenery, the sudden downpour. Seems planned to me."

"In order to fulfill the cliche, shouldn't there have been a conveniently-placed cottage with comfortable furnishings to which we could retreat?"

"Oh yes. Something furnished entirely with pillows and blankets, with a massive bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, on top of which you'd finally have your way with me."

"Do people actually believe in these things?"

"You remember those trashy romance novels?"

"Ugh."

"Emphatically so."

"Well then again, I do seem to recall a bit of prose that usually works in these situations."

"Really. Do tell."

"Indeed." He turned me to face him. I noted with an internal mixture of a groan and a relieved sigh that the twinkle of mischief was in those bits of blue again. "I take you in my arms, shielding you against the chill of the rain, look deeply into your eyes, and say the words every woman wants to hear in these situations." The cheeky bastard dipped me like a tango dancer, bending us both into a pose that would have been perfectly at home on the cover of a godawful Harlequin novel, and said, "Darling, let's get you out of those wet clothes."

This time, the incredulous pause was all mine.

"Elf, I'm going to hurt you."

Out in the field, Avari suddenly alerted to the treeline a hundred or so yards away. Her ears pricked up and she stood staring, stock-still, as if expecting something. A moment later, she snorted forcefully, then let out a high-pitched bugling neigh that made me clamp my hands over my ears. Legolas sprinted from his place beside me to calm the anxious horse.

"What's the matter?" I called, hesitating to venture out into the rain, though it was unlikely I could get more soaked.

"She smells something she does not like," he called back. Avari calmed a bit, but she still danced in place as if she wished to flee. I was beginning to get an odd feeling that she might have the right idea.

"I...I think we should get back." Now all three of us were staring at that distant treeline.

"I think you might be right about that." He swung up onto the horses' back. Filled with a sense of urgency I still didn't understand, I darted out into the rain to join him. Avari wheeled away from the trees, rearing, and it took the Elf a moment to calm her before I could clamber up behind him.

"Looks like she's got the right idea," I said, looping my arms around his waist. Before he could reply, a horn sounded somewhere nearby. The guttural sound of it froze my blood. Legolas snarled something in Elvish that I couldn't help but guess was unsuited for childrens' ears.

"That is no Elf horn," he said ominously. "Hold tight, _wilwarin_. This is going to be a hard fast ride." Under other circumstances, I wouldn't have minded hearing those words from a tall wiry blond fellow who kept trying to steal kisses, but the dark forms massing on the treeline had me digging my nails into his tunic.

"Please tell me those aren't what I think they are."

"Orcs. They've found a way past our borders." An arrow thudded into the ground not ten feet from us. "Hold on!"

Avari leaped straight from a standstill into a canter, then into a gallop. I gripped with every limb I had. The odd notion occurred to me that it was actually easier to ride a horse at a dead run than at a bouncy trot. The Elf was perfectly balanced, horse and rider moved as one, and if I hadn't been able to hear the hoofbeats, I would have sworn we were flying. Every so often, a fluttering buzz told me an arrow had passed close by. Avari wove between the trees, dodging our pursuers at every turn, putting them further and further behind.

"We should be out of range soon," Legolas called back over his shoulder. I felt a sting in my shoulder as one arrow passed a bit too close for comfort.

"The sooner the better!" I yelled back. Avari stretched her neck out and ran even faster, if that were possible. The sounds of pursuit faded and soon we were passing back into what I suppose you could call Rivendell Proper. A familiar-looking group was there to meet us, gathered around an equally familiar-looking wagon. Gandalf held the reins of a foam-streaked chestnut who had clearly been run off his hooves, and four Hobbit Muses were huddled in the back, along with four girls I could only assume were their Charges. From the looks of things, they'd had a close call of their own.

"Were you followed?" Aragorn called, coming to steady Avari, who was not yet convinced she could stop running. Legolas vaulted off her back and reached up to help me down.

"I believe we lost them in the trees, but they are much too close to _Imladris_ for my comfort," he replied. I panted slightly as he lifted me down, out of breath from fear as much as from the wild ride. My adrenaline was still running high and my blood felt like fire.

"They are growing bolder," Gandalf put in, scowling. "They were waiting for us just beyond Bree. Whoever commands them is already aware that the Charges are gathering."

"And that we would bring them here for safe-keeping," came a gruff new voice. "Filthy creatures ambushed us on the way in." Gimli elbowed his way past Boromir; following close behind him was a solidly-built blonde girl in Dwarven mail who looked like she'd been in a scuffle. A fresh bruise decorated one cheek and her lip was split, but there was plenty of fight left in her eyes. Gimli's nose looked as if it had been broken and his armor had taken a recent beating.

"You look awful, my friend," Legolas said from behind me, with a smile in his voice. Gimli grinned right back, revealing a chipped tooth.

"You should see the Orcs."

I couldn't help but giggle at that. Every seemed so surreal and funny just then. The giggle evolved into a full-on belly laugh and I laughed until I was gasping and wiping the tears from my eyes. Then I noticed that no one else seemed to be laughing. Actually, it was difficult to see them all properly, due to the air before my eyes becoming the consistency of water all of a sudden. And not just water, but the deep crushing depths of the sea. I couldn't move. My lungs seized when I tried to breathe, and the call for help I tried to muster came out as a strangled croak. The adrenal fire in my blood suddenly turned to bone-shattering cold. Someone caught me as my knees buckled. The water was in my lungs now; I could feel it bubbling as I tried to cough it up. There was a sharp sting in my shoulder as something embedded in my flesh was forcibly removed by ungentle hands. A dark blur I supposed was Aragorn held up something small, sharp, and wicked-looking.

"It's poisoned." His voice was like the wind before a storm, low and ominous.

A hand like ice on my forehead and a deeper, rolling voice. "Bitter scent, and she's running a fever. I know this poison."

"Can you concoct an antidote?" Lighter, this one, the smiling tones I'd heard before submerged beneath waves of worry.

"Yes, but it will take some time."

Several voices began talking at once, but they were garbled and indistinct. A brilliant white light hovered over me for a moment, then faded away. Dimly, I heard someone shouting, then a warm green whisper that cut through the darkening waters.

"Hold on, _wilwarin_. Hold on."

Blackness then, and nothing more.

(Dun dun DUNNNNNN! Ahh you poor loyal readers. All this waiting and I give you another cliffhanger. I am a rotten evil person and I don't blame you if you start shrieking, but please do hang in there. More to come...and in a more timely fashion, I might add. Special thanks once again to my wonderful beta, Elendulin.)


	12. Chapter 12

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: This pocket lint is multiplying, I swear to God. If only it counted as legal tender.

**Notes**: Not a whole lot of reviews for the last chapter, but I'm too impatient for this to wait. I know a lot of people want the outcome quickly, so I'm obliging you this once. Little backstory on the Elf and a previous Charge, as well as some wisdom from Gandalf. Pardon the brevity. Enjoy!

Part the Twelfth

It was a lot like floating. I wasn't sinking or rising or moving in any particular direction, just hanging weightless in the void. Ear-splitting silence alternated with storms of voices, high-pitched and jabbering or slow and drawling. Once in a while, I thought I saw faces, but the blackness swallowed them up before I could make out any features. There was an odd coppery taste in my mouth, which occasionally gave way to draughts of something hot and intensely bitter. Drums of agony pounded in every muscle for what seemed like hours and my head alternated between exploding and collapsing in on itself. I don't know how long I lingered in that abyss of nothing, but eventually the deep darkness lightened until it was merely a dim haze and I slept.

A half-whispered argument roused me sometime later. My eyelids had somehow transfigured into lead and subsequently glued themselves shut. It took a monumental effort to open one eye the barest sliver. A tall shining figure in white stood with his back to me, in an archway I later figured out was the door to my room, conversing with an unseen party in very sharp tones.

"You cannot exhaust yourself in this way and expect no one will take notice," he was saying. His voice carried the weight of someone who was seen all and done all, and some small sane part of my brain registered that this must be Gandalf. "Go and take some rest. Your Charge will be quite safe in my keeping."

"Let me pass." The green whisper was a growl now, tired and anxious. "It is my duty to watch over her."

"Your devotion to your Charge is admirable, my friend. But I cannot help recalling another Charge who put that look in your eye."

"Do not speak of those days to me, Mithrandir. I have put them from my mind and will not bear recollection."

"You are an Elf, Legolas. Your race is stoic because you must be. Your hearts hold more depth than those of Men. You love more deeply than they do, and you feel grief and loss and anger more keenly. The loss of Arianna..."

"How dare you!"

"How dare I? Do not forget, princeling, I have walked this Middle Earth since before your honored grandparents were in swaddling clothes. I saw your pain when she threw you over in favor of the Son of Gondor. I saw your grief when he broke her heart and when, in her agony, she lashed out at you." There was a long silence, then Gandalf shifted and appeared to put his hand on my Muses' shoulder. "Heartbreak is an excrucriating wound for any being to bear, all the more deadly to an Elf whose heart was ever prudent and guarded beforehand. So forgive me, my young friend, if I seek to keep you from repeating past mistakes."

"This is different."

"The time-honored argument of all stubborn young lovers," Gandalf chuckled. "And yet...somehow I believe you." He turned to glance at me. Embarassed to be caught eavesdropping, however unintentionally, I tried to close my cracked-open eye, but my muscles refused to cooperate and instead did the opposite. My other eyelid unglued itself; the light stung briefly and I blinked away a sudden flush of saltwater. The White Wizard smiled gently, knowingly, setting his face into a mass of creases, and stepped aside. My Muse all but tumbled into the room and fell to his knees beside my bed; his hand fumbled for mine and squeezed tightly. I tried to speak but my throat wouldn't obey me yet. I was reduced to summoning my strength to pull the corners of my mouth into a very slight smile. My Muse beamed and leaned over the bed; his lips were cool against my still-burning forehead.

"It's all right, _wilwarin_. I'm here."

My eyes grew heavy again. Somewhere near the door, Gandalf spoke again, and there was a smile, canny and ancient, in that deep rolling voice.

"A guarded heart, once given, is only safe when the giver receives the same in return. Different, indeed."

Dimly, I heard a chair being pulled to the side of the bed, which was some sort of feat, because the Elf's hand never left mine. The darkness closed in again, but this time it was soft and safe and gentle, so I let myself drift off, with our linked fingers as an anchor.

(And thus we return you to your regularly scheduled sweetness. Review! I said REVIEW!)


	13. Chapter 13

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Now there are moths with the lint, fut the wuck!

**Notes**: I really have to give some love to my reviewers, specifically hereiam, Thanwen, Certh, Dithinus, Metoochocolate, L8Bleumr, and OhShirleyUJest. You folks are just fantastic. You give me good consistent feedback and that keeps the mental wheels a-cranking. Congrats to Crazy-Xylophone-Neko, who posted my 100th review. Also, everyone please tip your metaphysical hat to my wonderful beta Elendulin, without whom none of this would be possible.

Part the Thirteenth

True to his word, Legolas barely left my bedside for the next several days. Occasionally, someone would come in to drag him away for something, but he always returned as quickly as he was able. He attended Council meetings each morning and brought me back the proceedings around lunchtime; in this way, I was kept well-informed of goings-on with our little group.

Gandalf had known almost instantly that the dart I'd taken in the shoulder was smeared with the venom of a serpent native to the Eastern lands. A Middle Earth equivalent of antivenin had staved off the initial deadly effects and a cocktail of herbs (the bitter taste I remembered) had been used to combat the remaining problems thereafter. The Elves of Rivendell had gone immediately to defend the borders of the valley after our return; the Orcs had been routed and driven away in disorder.

Based on intelligence from the recently-arrived Hobbits and their Charges, who apparently had been writing a different part of the story, the Orcs had indeed come from Mordor. Sauron, who was unfortunately not as vanquished as we'd like to think, thanks to his memory living on in Tolkien's works, had discovered that the Fellowship Muses and their Charges were able to create new realities through their writing. Of course, like any megalomaniac bent on world domination, he decided that such power should be harnessed for his purposes and sent his minions to bring him back a Charge of his own.

"Why couldn't he just get one from my world?" I asked one morning over breakfast. Legolas took a long sip of his coffee before replying.

"We're still not sure of that. The bond that brings Muses and Charges together is not fully understood, but I believe it might be because there is no one in your world similar enough to Sauron who would be receptive to the idea of being his Charge."

"You mean Charges can refuse to write?"

"Oh, certainly." His eyes twinkled; he knew perfectly well what I was thinking.

"Now you tell me. Wish I'd known that before I let you deprive me of what little sleep I used to get."

"Odd, you seem to be sleeping perfectly well nowadays."

"Oh ha ha, very droll." I glared at him over the rim of my mug. Yeah, believe it or not, Elves make REALLY good coffee. Screw you, Starbucks.

Unfortunately, this particular Elf cannot cook worth a damn. I don't mean to say that Elves are lousy cooks in general, but Legolas has actually burned boiling water. I have no idea how he managed it, but he did. He makes good coffee, but the first morning he brought me breakfast in bed, it was a complete disaster. I thought the gesture was very sweet until I realized the bacon was half-raw, the eggs had the consistency of fried cardboard, and the toast resembled a well-loved hockey puck. Somebody else did the cooking after that. Today, my Muse had come in with a truly exceptional tray of pancakes and fresh fruit. I promised myself, not for the first time, to find out the name of the chef and thank him or her with some really good alcohol.

"In any case, that affinity is difficult to find to begin with, and with an agenda like his, well...I cannot think of many who would be willing to comply." I swigged down the last of my coffee and thought for a moment.

"I think it would really depend on what he was offering. I mean, you do call him Sauron the Deceiver, it's not like he'd have to be completely honest to get his way about things."

Legolas shook his head. "Muses may be able to keep minor secrets from their Charges for short periods of time, but we cannot outright lie to you. Also, in the case of any deception we may be able to muster, you would suspect our true intentions."

"That would seem to explain how I always know when you're being sincere as opposed to just trying to get under my skirt," I said with a playful glare. The Elf opened those big blue eyes nice and wide and put on the most innocent "Who, ME?" expression you've ever seen. "Yes you have, don't even give me that look!"

"It is nice to see your spirit returning, my dear," Gandalfs' deep voice rang from the doorway. His smile lit the room as he strode forward, white robes billowing. "How are you feeling?"

"All things considered, I feel great." I set my mug aside and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. My Muse raised an eyebrow at my bare legs and gave me that suggestive smirk that made me want to hit that...with a truck. "I could use a bath, though. Alone," I added when I saw the telltale gleam appear.

"Excellent. The Council is meeting at three o'clock this afternoon to discuss some recent developments. If you are feeling well enough, your presence has been requested." Gandalf clapped a hand on the Elfs' shoulder and grinned broadly. "I shall find employment for your Muse elsewhere in the meantime." If the black look on his face was any indication, I believe Legolas would have cheerfully murdered Gandalf right about then for disrupting his schemes. As it was, he muttered a few unprintable things as he was dragged out the door. I just shook my head and made my way to the adjoining bath.

A hot shower after a week or so spent sweaty and feverish was absolutely divine. I scrubbed from head to toe at least twice (side note: Elves make good soap too), then turned the taps colder before the steam could make me dizzy and just leaned on the wall, letting the water beat down on my skin for a while. I was contemplating washing for a third time, just for the hell of it, when the sound of the door latch turning broke my reverie. Quick as a flash, I shut off the taps and grabbed for the oversized towel hanging on the rack, and not a moment too soon.

"Oh. You're finished already?" Never in the history of Middle Earth have four words come so close to getting an Elf killed.

"You ripe bastard." I stepped out of the stall and glared fit to take someones' head off. In hindsight, being dripping wet and naked but for a knee-length bath sheet probably took some of the sting out of it, but the flinch was satisfactory nonetheless. The grin was nowhere near sheepish enough to mollify me; in fact, the cheeky tone to it had me looking for something to throw.

"Dare I hope that you will need some assistance getting dressed?"

"Screw getting dressed. I'm getting ready to toss your ass out a window, Long Ears, and I won't need any help to accomplish that!"

"Again with the defenestration, _wilwarin_. You ought to either make good on the threat or come up with a new one."

Seeing red, I shoved past him, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the floor to the wardrobe. Then I realized the extent of my predicament. If I'd remained in the bathroom, I could have at least shut the door and dried off in peace, then made a dash for the wardrobe to dress. Years of communal gym class showers in high school had seen to my ability to dress under a towel. However, now I had no such recourse, and Legolas knew it. He leaned against the wall just outside the bathroom door and raised both eyebrows as if to say, "Well? What now?"

Improvisation saved my pride, and very likely saved him from an imminent mauling. The open door of the wardrobe didn't provide as much cover as I would have liked, but it was certainly better than giving my randy Muse a free show.

"Wasn't Gandalf supposed to be keeping you busy?" I snarled, squeezing the water out of my hair.

"He met with some difficulty with the Hobbits' Charges." From the sound of things, he'd settled into the bedside chair he'd been occupying daily for nearly a week. "I managed to slip away when they besieged him with questions about this afternoon's meeting."

"And you came back here, knowing that I would throttle you for peeping, because...?"

"Why, to see to your safety, naturally. One can never tell what sort of unsavory characters might be sneaking about the place."

"Mm, especially with you around," I agreed, crossly.

"I am shocked you would think such a thing of me, Malina. Shocked and hurt."

"And altogether unconvincing." I groped for my tunic and quickly pulled it on. The fabric covered everything that needed covering and enabled me to search for my trousers in relative decency. I heard him chuckle just as I managed to pull them on and turned to find the Elf a bare foot away, giving me that soft sincere smile that make my traitorous knees wobble.

"Ah, it is good to argue with you again, _wilwarin_," he said, brushing a damp lock of hair out of my face, fingertips lingering behind my ear. "It does my heart good to see that fire back in your eyes."

"You enjoy getting my dander up just a little too much, Elf."

"Perhaps I do. Perhaps I cannot resist the temptation to provoke you. Perhaps it is simply because you are so beautiful when you are angry."

Floored? Floored doesn't even begin to cover it. I'm just glad I wasn't still wearing the towel because I would have dropped it. As it was, my jaw went south to visit my navel. A gentle touch under my chin brought it back up to the proper position, then did a little extracurricular tilting.

"You really must be crazy."

"Most likely. But only for you."

You're really going to have to do something about the fact that he keeps stealing kisses without your permission, I told myself as my arms wound themselves around his neck.

His hands were surprisingly well-behaved, one threading into my still-damp hair, the other settling on the small of my back. That mouth, however, had other plans, and they were wicked indeed. I had thought his first stolen kiss had been the height of his ability to make my blood boil; I was sorely mistaken. He caught me as I swayed and we ended up stumbling into the nearby wall. A momentary fit of giggling was silenced by another kiss, then another. The hand which had been resting so innocently on my back dipped down and lifted me effortlessly, and I was obliged to wrap my legs around his waist or risk flailing. About five seconds later, our position finally dawned on me. Oddly, the urge to resolve the situation with a right hook was slower in arriving than I expected; in fact, it failed to show up at all. Actually, the notion that did clear its' metaphorical throat and put a word in suggested that there were far too many clothes in this equation and that some of them really ought to go.

"Wait," I panted, breaking away. "We should stop."

"_Man mathag_?" He looked less annoyed than I expected, and the concern in his eyes didn't irritate me the way it might have once. He still had me pinned to the wall and didn't seem the slightest bit inclined to put me down just yet.

"I'm all right, it's just...I..."

"Yes?" His lips sought the side of my neck, neatly derailing my train of thought before it left the station. "What is it?"

"Never mind."

He pulled back just long enough to smile before taking my mouth again with a kiss that said quite plainly that he had no intentions of stopping again. The protesting part of my brain was still conspicuously absent and it was only an ill-timed knock at the door that brought the festivities to a screeching halt.

"_Rhaich_!" Legolas swore under his breath. He set me back on my feet and we both hurriedly adjusted rumpled clothing as I scurried to answer the door, "answer" here having the meaning of "yank open and glare viciously at whoever happens to be there."

"Somebody had better be dead," Legolas growled from over my shoulder. The mousey-looking, Hobbit-sized girl who'd come to fetch us looked positively terrified. The plate of cookies she carried in shaking hands as a peace offering seemed in danger of crashing to the floor, so I took them.

"I...you...Council's ready to meet!" she squeaked. I elbowed my Muse in the ribs to stop him glaring.

"We'll be down in a moment." That seemed to satisfy her and off she ran, probably glad to be away from the grumpy Elf and his equally grumpy Charge. I groaned and turned back into the room to find my boots. Legolas followed me, naturally, and sat beside me on the bed as I pulled them on.

"I don't suppose there is any chance of continuing this discussion later?" he asked, sounding hopeful. Once again, I surprised myself by not having an immediate, biting refusal to throw at him. Even more shocking, I found a blush creeping up my cheeks.

"Perhaps."

He smiled and leaned close for another kiss. It was the last one for now and we both knew it, but it held a promise for later.

I really was going to have to do something about him stealing these kisses. Eventually.

(This took so much longer than I thought it would. My Muse decided he wanted a vacation of his own. No worries, he's safely strapped to a chair now and I won't be letting him make the beer runs anymore. Review!)

Man mathag? - Are you all right? (lit. "How do you feel?") *Updated by order of Certh, my new Grammar Goddess

Rhaich! - Damnit! ("Curses!")


	14. Chapter 14

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Okay, the auction house has taken out a restraining order to get me off their doorstep. But I will not be deterred so easily!

**Notes**: Sorry it's taken so long to get this out. I must bow to Tolkien's genius for managing to formulate SIXTY THOUSAND WORDS of Council discussion and debate. I do not have anywhere near that level of intestinal fortitude and thus, hashing this out took longer than expected. So since you've all been so lovely, here's an extra-long chapter. Enjoy!

Part the Fourteenth

Not long afterwards, the pair of us made our way to the stone dais, where the Council was waiting. For such a high-sounding name, we made a remarkably motley crew of characters. Elven leathers, Gondorian formalwear, Dwarven armor, Hobbit country garb, and Wizard robes; the gammut was well and truly run. The newly-arrived octet of Muses and Charges made the dais feel quite crowded indeed. Lord Elrond had also joined the proceedings; though saddled with no Charge of his own, Rivendell was still his domain and he fully intended, it appeared, to remain a part of any and all official happenings therein. Everyone jockeyed for position on a dais crammed with chairs for the better part of ten minutes before things got settled.

Gandalf, resplendent in his snowy robes, was joined by a middle-aged woman with a cheerful, open face, whose ink-stained fingertips and bifocals carried on a beaded tether proclaimed her a librarian. The woman, one Jan by name, wore the same simply designed robes as her Muse, but in a plummy quixotic shade of purple with paisley trim.

Beside them, looking ever-so-slightly comic on the too-large seats, were the Hobbits and their Charges. Frodo still wore his gentleman's suit of brown velvet. Persephone, his pale and slightly dour-looking Charge, was dressed entirely in black, and how she managed to find eyeliner and black nail polish in Middle Earth, I will never know. Sam and his Charge, Samantha (who I later discovered was a botanist...how apropos), had come straight from the gardens, if the grass stains on their knees and the dirt beneath their nails was anything to go by.

Pippin looked more chagrined than I'd ever though was possible for a hellion of his caliber. His Charge, an overly bubbly redhaired girl called Lauren, kept staring intently at the interactions between the Big Folk in the group and whispering excitedly to her Muse, despite his alternating attempts to shush or ignore her. Nearby, Merry and the Cookie Fairy (even after discovering her given name was Rachel, I could not help mentally giving her that title) were doing their level best not to notice, and thereby possibly encourage, Laurens' antics, despite frantic save-me glances from Pippin.

Gimli, still wearing his armor, looked much more presentable with the blood washed out of his beard, but he fidgeted in his seat and puffed at his pipe in an agitated fashion, grumbling all the while about time being wasted on needless dithering when the enemy was at the gate and any self-respecting Dwarf should be out adding notches to his axe handle. His Charge looked similarly itchy for a fight. A rugby player and child of massive Tom Baker fans, Sarah-Jane had the solid lean build of a seasoned athlete and a slightly demented sense of humor. In Dwarven mail and surreptitiously kneading the grip of a longaxe, she was a formidable figure indeed.

Directly to my left sat Boromir, toward whom my Muse, sitting on my right, kept directing vaguely poisonous glances as the Man tried his best to strike up a conversation with me. His Charge looked exceedingly annoyed by this, as if he were committing some sort of obscure faux-pas. Erinn was pleasant enough, unfailingly polite and ever-gracious; her one downfall was a sort of stodgy, nit-picked way of thinking that corrects people who round the time up two minutes and seems to ask if "anal retentive" has a hyphen.

Of all the Muses in attendance, Aragorn was the only one who looked like he'd rather be cliffdiving without a chute than sitting on that dais. I'd heard of the expression "heavy hangs the head that wears the crown," but this was bordering on ridiculous. Amber sat beside him, regal and haughty, arrayed in a sumptuously impractical gown trimmed in gold, and looking extremely pleased with herself. The King, on the other hand, looked nothing short of nauseated. His face was drawn and pale, as if he'd been kept up all night by a supremely irritating noise. I could hazard a guess as to what it might have been and counted myself lucky that, as annoying as Legolas could be, at least he knew when to shut up. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like to be responsible for inspiring someone who would stand on a ladder with a light bulb in a socket and then be shocked when the world didn't revolve around her, and quite frankly, for the sake of my mental health, I wasn't about to.

At length, Gandalf called the meeting to order and everyone got down to business. Another half hour was spent rehashing what was already known, ostensibly to get everyone on the same page. I was grateful for the recap; a few things were mentioned that Legolas had forgotten in our talks. The manuscipts each Charge had brought to Middle Earth sat in two neat stacks on a nearby table. Elrond laid out the story as we'd recorded it thus far, then went on.

"This all began simply enough. Our nine Muses found their Charges and set about inspiring the creation of stories, as is their wont. It was not until discussing their individual projects among themselves that it was discovered that each Charge was writing what amounted to the same story, from nine differing points of view. Never before in our history has this happened, and not since the great days of Tolkien have so many from our world been drawn into one tale." I blinked at this and turned to ask Legolas about it, but he shook his head and indicated that he would explain later. "In addition, Sauron the Deceiver, whom we thought long defeated, has re-emerged. Our scholars surmise his memory has lived on in the same literary works that continue to give us life, with a recent surge in popularity placing long-forgotten names on many tongues once more."

"Has the Ring also returned?" Erinn piped up, leaning forward.

"No," was the immediate reply from Frodo, who winced and rubbed at his left shoulder. "No, it hasn't. I would know." Persephone gave his arm a sympathetic pat with one black-nailed hand.

"Frodo Baggins is correct," Elrond agreed. "Sauron's lifeforce remains decimated and the One Ring remains a pool of melted slag in the belly of Mount Doom. It is destroyed and cannot be remade." Several people seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at this, myself included.

"Then it is the memory of Sauron that endures still," Gandalf mused, "and breathes some feeble life into the bones of our enemy."

"But if he was gone for good when the Ring was destroyed, how can he still be alive at all?" This time it was Sarah-Jane who spoke and both she and her Muse looked slightly offended that anything would dare rear its' head again after a thorough destroying. Dwarves are far more wily and intelligent than most people give them credit for, but their favorite method of dealing with a military problem remains to give it a good faceful of axe until it stops twitching.

"Good and evil are eternal forces, forever locked in a struggle to dominate the minds of all beings," Gandalf replied. "However, the laws of universal equilibrium being what they are, neither can ever fully triumph. Which is to say, neither ever be completely defeated. Good and evil, light and shadow, all things must be held in balance. Neither can exist without the other. One may hold sway for a time, but eventually the pendulum will reverse direction. It is the way of things." I thought I head Pippin's Charge giggle something about lots of things swinging the other way before she was vehemently shushed by her seatmates.

From there, the discussion turned to four hours of exceedingly boring conjecture on what to do about Sauron's reappearance. From the repeated forays by orcs in an effort to capture a Charge, we already knew that somehow the convergent stories written by the nine Charges was the key to his growing strength and that he intended to take advantage of the power of the written word to resurrect himself. Numerous theories on how to circumvent this were proposed by nearly everyone, to be considered or vetoed by the others. The conversation went around in ever more dizzying circles until Elrond, who looked as though he was about to suffer Rivendell's first migraine, proposed a break for lunch. This was hailed with the enthusiasm of eighteen empty stomachs (there is nothing sadder than the faces of eight Hobbits who have missed second breakfast) and we adjourned to a nearby grove, where picnic blankets and refreshments were waiting.

Suppositions continued over sandwiches, sweets, and tea in a much less formal fashion. In addition to the mornings' peace offering, the Cookie Fairy...I mean, Rachel...had found the time to bake some truly exceptional cranberry scones. Erinn joined Jan and Gandalf for a discussion of classical literature while Sarah-Jane did her level best to teach the Hobbits how to play soccer, much to the amusement of Boromir and Gimli, who eventually joined in the game.

Amber raised a bit of a stink when a foul ball upset her teacup, sending a minor flood down the front of her skirt. She fussed and whined until Aragorn excused her to get fresh clothes, completely ignoring her oh-so-subtle hints that he should accompany her. As soon as she was out of sight, he relaxed visibly.

As for my cheeky brat of a Muse, he'd sprawled on the picnic blanket and plunked his blond head into my lap the second I'd made myself comfortable. Fortunately for him, I was still riding the tender feelings from earlier in the day and even after headache-inducing debate, I wasn't in the mood to swat him.

"So, what did Elrond mean about the 'great days of Tolkien' anyway?" I asked as Aragorn, apparently seeking to put more distance between himself and Amber, crossed the grove to join us.

"Ah yes," Aragorn said with a smile, as he settled onto our blanket. "Great days indeed." I tried to nudge the Elf off of my lap for the sake of decorum, but he refused to budge.

"Tolkien was a Charge," Legolas explained, giving me a glare for kneeing him in the back of the head. "One of our more famous Charges, actually, and certainly one of the most prolific. Galadriel was his Muse. She taught him the languages and histories of our world and he was the first person in your world to tell the tale of the War of the Ring, among many other stories."

"Times were grim beforehand," added Aragorn, helping himself to a sandwich. "Oh, there were writers, without question, but violence and fear permeated the public consciousness and left little room for wonderment or fantastic stories. We survived on fairy tales and penny dreadfuls for many a year, as they were one of the few things that contained the spark of fantasy that sustains our world." This piqued my curiosity, but I held my tongue. "Then a group of young writers from Oxford calling themselves the Inklings started meeting to discuss literature and their own writings. All those open minds in one place...it was as if a beacon had been lit. We whispered to all of them, but Tolkien was the one who heard us most clearly. And so the Lady of Light went to him and became his Muse, and thus the Great Story was written. Suddenly, life and light were flooding back into our world; the old tales were being revived and new ones created...I cannot begin to tell you of the excitement."

"From then on, everything improved," the Elf interjected, bouncing a grape off his friend's forehead and receiving a playful kick for his trouble. "Tolkien's work was hailed as genius - which, of course, it was - and other authors followed in his foosteps."

"Have they all been Charges? All those writers?" I couldn't help asking.

"Not all of them, but a good many." Boromir, escaping the clutches of the soccer game, made himself comfortable in the shade. "My brother Faramir still speaks fondly of Anne Bishop."

"Anne Bishop, really?" I suppressed a sudden urge to squeal. "I've read her, she's wonderful!"

"Mm, that's what Faramir said too," was the broadly grinned reply. A patched leather ball sailed across the lawn to land squarely in his lap. "Oof! You miscreants, let a man catch his breath!"

"You know perfectly well he meant it as a compliment to her skills as a writer," Aragorn chided him. "Your brother is as devoted to his lady as I am to mine." Boromir's grin only widened and his eyes acquired a dancing gleam that I'd seen before on a certain Elf plotting to misbehave.

"A sibling's privilege, Aragorn! What kind of brother would I be if I didn't give him a good ribbing every once in a while?"

"It does not do him much good if he is not here to hear you, does it?" my Muse added lazily, closing his eyes and getting comfy in my lap. "At least wait until he is present to defend himself."

"And what sport would that be?"

All three of us sighed.

A gaggle of Hobbits dragged Boromir back onto the field shortly thereafter and Aragorn made tracks for Gandalf's literary discussion as Amber made a reappearance in a gown that probably wasn't meant to be worn with a pushup bra. Legolas retained his position, sprawled next to me, hands folding at his waist, looking quite settled. It was rather an adorable scene actually, but I was swiftly losing circulation in one leg.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to move," I grumped, wincing as a slight shift sent pins and needles through my calf.

"No," he said, cracking one eye open to observe my expression, which was no doubt amusing.

"Don't I get to be comfortable?"

"You are very comfortable," he replied mildly, smiling up from where his head was pillowed on my thigh. My exasperated sigh made him grin.

"Must you?"

"Oh, I must, I must. Ouch!" He sat up and rubbed the ear I'd just given a hearty flick. "I rather thought we had gotten past this phase."

"You thought wrong, pointy-ears." I tried to be grouchy, but I couldn't help but grin at his aggrieved scowl.

"Very well, have it your way." He settled himself back against the tree under which we were sitting and held out an arm. "Well? Come on then."

I blinked, but accepted the invitation anyway. His arm curved around me and I rested my head on his chest, with an arm slung over his stomach. Everything was peaceful and quiet, even with a horde of Hobbits thoroughly beating the pants off Boromir and Gimli at soccer. I felt Legolas pluck the tie off the end of my braid and unravel the plaited strands so he could run his fingers through them. Normally, I get very antsy about people touching my hair, but somehow this soothing touch seemed as natural as breathing. A deliciously drowsy feeling stole over me, despite all the time I'd spent nearly comatose over the last week.

"Comfortable now?"

"Mm-hmm..."

"I will wake you when we reconvene."

Deciding this was as good an excuse as any, I let my eyes flutter shut and drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat.

* * *

><p>(Phew! That was a long one. Hopefully now that the Council bit is mostly out of the way, we can get to the really good stuff. You know...battles and bickering and good old-fashioned fluff! R&amp;R 'cause Mal loves you!)<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

**The Muse Errant**

**Disclaimer**: Turns out hitmen won't work for pocket lint, so the restraining order stands. Damn...

**Notes**: Just for anyone who might get butthurt, I am actually a fan of well-written slash. (Emphasis on the well-written. If you can pull it off, more power to ya. If you can't...please don't force it.) Lauren is a parody of someone I knew in college who saw slash pairings EVERYWHERE and tended to discuss her slash pairing preferences in THE most inappropriate places (like at top volume in the cafeteria of the office where we were both working at the time) and could not be silenced except with sugary treats, which only made her more hyper and...well, it was a vicious cycle. But just to clarify: love is love, regardless of gender preference, and you will never catch me thumbing my nose at good slash. (Even if there isn't any in this story.)

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><p>Part the Fifteenth<p>

The rest of the afternoon dragged on as interminably as the morning had done, perhaps more so. Shortly before supper, likely fed up with all the needless dithering, Gandalf moved that we adjourn for the night. Everyone agreed to return the next morning with a bit of new writing to help move things along. After sending Amber and her pouty face packing, Aragorn pulled Legolas aside for a word. I found myself overhearing a conversation between Erinn and two of the Hobbit Charges: Rachel the Cookie Fairy, and Pippin's hyper friend Lauren.

"Omigod," Lauren was gushing, at what she probably thought was a low volume (it wasn't). "Every time they go off like that and talk, I'm totally waiting for them to declare their love for each other!"

"What are you talking about?" Rachel asked in the exasperated tone of somebody who's pretty sure they're not going to like the answer they're about to get.

"The King and the Elf!" Lauren replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Can't you see it?" I followed her rabid gaze across the courtyard to the aforementioned pair. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and if the gestures accompanying the conversation meant what I think they did, a fishing trip was being planned.

"To quote the Bard," Erinn put in, "I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter."

"Oh come ON!" Lauren actually stamped her foot. I had to smother a giggle.

"There is no mention of any such relationship in any of the works of Tolkien," Erinn countered firmly. "The bond between then is fraternal and clearly platonic. Their friendship is just that. They are not lovers."

"But they COULD be!" Oh God, she was like The Thing That Would Not Shut Up. "I mean, how do you know it didn't just get left out? How do you know it's not happening right now?"

Rachel sighed and said drily, "Well, the fact that the Elf has done nothing but try to get into Mal's pants since the word go might be a hint." Lauren looked deflated and I made a rather undignified noise as I hightailed it across the courtyard, choking on a gigglefit of epic proportions.

After retrieving my copy of the story, I went in search of a quiet spot to do some writing. A tall tree with a comfortable-looking spill of roots provided just what I was looking for and it seemed I was not alone in my preference. Persephone had already claimed a spot and was busily scribbling away. Not wanting to startle her, I announced my presence and I took a seat a few yards away.

"Mind if I join you?" She shook her head without looking up. "Thanks. Let me know if you want to compare notes or anything."

"No!" was the immediate response. I blinked at the sudden rudeness, but Persephone quickly composed herself. "Sorry, I...I don't like to show my writing to anybody until it's finished."

"That's fair," I replied. I meant to say more, but she suddenly jumped up and ran off, leaving me to wonder what that was all about. Shrugging it off, I made myself comfortable and started to write. Oddly, the words didn't seem to want to fit together. The sentences seemed bland, the dialogue stilted. The more I tried to make it work, the more frustrating it became, until I want to throw the book against a wall. I set it down beside me instead, barely restraining my temper, and sat back, running both hands through my hair. The muscles between my shoulders felt like the Gordean knot, which did not help my mood.

"Problems?" I let my head fall back against the tree behind me and looked up to find Boromir leaning against the trunk, close enough that I would have heard him approach if I hadn't been distracted.

"Shouldn't you be inspiring your Charge?" I said, rather more sharply than I meant to. "Sorry, that was rude. I'm just a little annoyed right now." He waved one hand and took a seat beside me.

"Quite all right. And to answer your question, Erinn has buried herself in the archives, rereading the histories...again. To say she is a stickler for detail is putting it mildly. In any event, she will not hear of writing anything more until all of her facts are straight and that will likely consume the rest of the evening." He noted the discarded book between us. "I take it you've hit a wall of your own then?"

"You might say that." I eyed him warily, not even remotely in the mood to be flirted with, but his expression remained one of friendly interest.

"It is understandable. You've been so used to writing with the help of a Muse that in his absence, it becomes difficult."

I froze. "So, I can't write anything on my own?"

Boromir shook his head. "Likely, it only relates to this one work. You began it together and must therefore finish it together." I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. As faithful as my Muse had been in his attentions, I didn't particularly relish the idea of my writing career being subject to his whims.

"That's...good to know," I managed, not wanting give away the direction of my thoughts. He gave me a look that implied he'd guessed them anyway, but in a moment of tact for which I was grateful, he didn't mention it.

"I cannot directly inspire you without incurring the wrath of a certain Elf," he said, "but if you require a sounding board, I would be happy to offer my services." I shot him another suspicious glance. "Would it help if I promised to keep my ogling to a minimum?"

That surprised me enough that I giggled in spite of myself, resulting in a broad grin from Boromir, and handily serving to alleviate most of my irritation. I rolled my shoulders and the knot between them eased somewhat. He looked as if he wanted to make some remark about helping me work out that tension, but, to his ever-lasting credit, he did not. After a minute or so, I retrieved my notebook and read him the passage that was giving me so much grief. As promised, he didn't offer anything new, but gave his honest opinion of what I'd written and made polite suggestions when asked. It was very different from what I was used to with Legolas, but it was helpful just the same.

A good half hour passed in this fashion; I barely noticed until Boromir got to his feet and stretched.

"Your Muse approaches, my lady," he said, lifting my hand to his lips with a conspiratorial grin. "I'd best make myself scarce before he turns me into a human pincushion for daring to speak with you." Chuckling again, I waved him off. Seconds later, one very prickly Elf was at my side, glaring daggers at Boromir's retreating back.

"Down, boy," I said as I stood. "He was perfectly well-behaved."

"I do not trust him," Legolas frowned, fingers twitching toward his knives. I rolled my eyes and stretched in That Particular Way, which, as intended, immediately garnered me his Undivided Attention. I hid a slightly smug grin as I tucked the journal into my pocket.

"Have I missed dinner?" I asked, just as nonchalantly as you please. The Elf seemed to shake himself, and then it was his turn to move in A Particular Way, one which neatly backed me into the tree trunk.

"We could always have something sent up," he murmured, his mouth hovering a breath away from mine.

"Perhaps," I whispered back, deliberately reiterating my response from that morning. His eyes darkened and I had to quickly interpose the journal between our face to keep him from stealing yet another kiss. "We do have a lot of work to do before tomorrow. I'm thinking at least two chapters." Given the slightly pained groan he gave me in response, this was not at all what he'd had in mind.

"_Wilwarin_, you will be the death of me," he sighed, leaning his head on my shoulder.

"Yes, yes, very pitiful," I replied with a sympathetic pat.

"If the two of you are done defiling that tree," someone called, "they're serving now."

I caught up with my Muse just in time to prevent him from strangling himself a Hobbit.

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><p>(Tons of love to Arcturus and Elendulin for their tireless Beta-Fu. Please do R&amp;R!)<p> 


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